


gutted/sorted

by beatricethecat



Series: gutted/sorted [1]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: AU Week, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, Fire, New York City, Slow Burn, there will be fluff for sure but later-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 83,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3807205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatricethecat/pseuds/beatricethecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Change may be the only constant in a city like New York, but one can argue there are acceptable limits over the course of a day. Myka Bering, a relative newbie, had no idea just how quickly her life could go from sorted to gutted. When Myka loses everything in a tragic fire, she takes refuge at a nearby hotel offering room and board to catastrophe's victims. Helena Wells, a bartender at the hotel, instinctively takes Myka under her wing. Though a complete stranger, Myka feels compelled to accept Helena’s offer to stay with her and her daughter until she finds a new place to live. As the weeks pass, Myka rebuilds her life with a new sense of purpose and Helena's enigmatic backstory slowly unfolds. They grow closer over time, but just how close?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The catalyst event is totally ripped from the headlines......
> 
> I've also realized, as this story progresses, it's becoming a chronicle of urban change and ~~gentrification~~ (let's call it market forces instead) as much as anything else. A topic _clearly_ not as sexy as budding love, but important nonetheless.
> 
> Attempting to clean this up and pull it over from Tumblr in honor of AU week! More notes below.
> 
> NOTE: 05/19/2016 - Since I started writing this story a year ago, I've learned a lot about structure and dialog. I know I'm a better writer now than I was and I've decided I care about the story enough to comb back through and fix what I can (no plot changes, just moving words around to make more sense.) So if you are reading this for the first time, please note, the quality will be uneven until I have a chance to edit to all the chapters. I'll post the edit date in the beginning notes for your reference, but I'll get it all edited before I finish part two, wax/wane.

``````````````````````````

Cities give us collision. 'Tis said, London and New York take the nonsense out of a man.  
-Ralph Waldo Emerson  
```````````````````````````

This particular day, a Thursday, begins unremarkably for Myka; well within the parameters of her comfortable routine. She wakes early and hops in the shower before the rest of the apartment rises. Tea and toast constitute breakfast, consumed while leisurely reading or checking email, lounging in her jokingly small living room. Following a terse conversation concerning trash, bills, and evening plans, her roommate rushes out the door, and Myka begins readying herself for work.

Scrutinizing her wardrobe, she selects a few smart, minimal, flattering options, eventually deciding upon an outfit which compliments her slender, statuesque frame. She then navigates a path to the pocket-sized bathroom next to the kitchen while wrestling her buoyant, dark chestnut curls into a loose but tidy bun. Leaning toward the mirror, she applies a nearly imperceivable layer of makeup to accent her high cheekbones then adds a thin coat of black mascara to bring out her greenish hazel eyes. Rummaging through her jewelry, she chooses a distinct set of earrings and a necklace made by a metalsmith friend then settles on a bracelet that works well enough with the two.

While packing her bag, she checks her phone for the weather. Deciding it's just cold enough to wear tights, she hurriedly locates the correct color in a drawer and slips them on. Scurrying toward the front door, she pulls on a pair of low heeled ankle-high boots, then lifts her vintage trench coat off of its hook. Realizing she forgot her laptop, she sets the jacket down and quickly collects the device off the couch, carefully placing it in a neoprene sleeve and dropping it in her bag. She picks up her coat, and adds scarf then heads out for the day.

She walks the well-worn path to work on auto-pilot and stops for a latte along the way. While waiting to be served, she gazes out the window, ruminating over her luck in finding a suitable living situation mere minutes from her job. As she ponders the dichotomy of her tiny but renovated fourth-floor walkup being housed in a six-story 19th-century tenement, she mentally acknowledges how intriguing she finds the history of the neighborhood and decides she should make an effort to learn more about it. Roused from her thoughts by the sound of her name being called, she picks up her drink and continues her short commute to work.

Today, like most days, she arrives early at the gallery to organize her tasks, well before her attention becomes divided between immediate issues and ongoing projects. She was hired to help coordinate database entries with the warehouse, but she often finds herself fielding calls for the registrar and helping schedule shipments for upcoming art fairs as well. Her job has grown exponentially during her brief tenure there, which she takes as a sign that she's doing a good job.

Knee deep in cataloging as late afternoon arrives, she startles when a coworker taps her on her shoulder and implores her to Google “East Village” and “Fire.”

She grimaces in annoyance at being interrupted but reluctantly does as instructed. What appears on her screen shocks her.

The coworker urges Myka to go, _now_ , and says she’ll let the others know what’s happened once she’s gone. Myka grabs her coat and bag and rushes out the door.

With a quick gait, she rounds a corner and walks east to the next block. As she turns to face north, she spies a plume of wide, heavy smoke rising high above the building tops, hitting the cloud ceiling, its source further up the avenue. She notes a faint, earthy, wooden, burning smell permeating the air, and the sound of sirens blaring from all directions and decides she should move faster. 

Briskly crossing a major intersection, she propels herself uptown and all too quickly reaches an impasse; a crowd has formed, fixated on a raging red and orange flare climbing impossibly high from a nearby rooftop. Fire trucks clog the avenue; their numbers increasing by the minute, more than Myka’s ever witnessed firsthand. She lifts up on her toes hoping to catch sight of the situation on the ground but finds she’s too far away. Eyes forward and without thought, she anxiously asks no one in particular what’s going on.

“Gas explosion,” a man next to her bluntly responds. “Then the damn thing caught on fire."

Myka gasps and raises a hand to cover her mouth. “I-I think that's my building. I-I mean the building I live in.” A slow panic fills her chest as she watches the steady stream of dark gray smoke abruptly split to include a vein of beige.

“Lady, you better talk to a cop,” the man advises. The words barely register in her brain as the he gestures toward an area beyond the caution tape. Her legs instantly carry her in the indicated direction, pushing through the loosely-knit crowd.

“Officer! Officer!” she frantically shouts.

A female cop stationed a few paces away turns and responds. “Miss, we can’t give out any information at the moment, please step back."

“But that’s...that's my building. I-I live there. Can you tell me what’s happening?” Myka pleads while waving a finger towards the fire.

The officer walks toward Myka and lifts the caution tape then motions for her to enter. Myka nervously crosses the threshold, and the officer pulls her aside.

“Miss, were you in the building earlier today?"

Myka nods slowly. “Yeah, this morning. But not since 9:30. I work just down the block,” she explains. Her eyes dart back toward the flames and hold there, mesmerized.

“Can you wait here for a moment?”

The officer turns to address her colleagues who are gathered a few feet away. Suddenly, the ground begins to shake and with an audible rumble, a huge cloud of dust bursts from the site of the fire. Myka instinctively ducks, and the cop ushers her back behind the caution tape. Rescue workers spring into action, pushing the throng of onlookers further down the street. Myka, now lost in the crowd, stands motionless, breathing in the smoldering air, captivated by thick smoke rolling across the surface of the street like fog.

A swift breeze dissipates the haze, and minutes later the officer resurfaces, searching for Myka. She guides her to the side, and they duck into the portico of a building. Placing a hand on Myka's shoulder, she leans slightly forward and speaks in a soothing tone.

“Miss, I’m really sorry, but your building is a total loss.”

Myka stiffens. “W-what do you mean? What happened?” she asks frantically. She raises a hand to cover her mouth and coughs once, feeling a slight irritation in her throat from the smoke.

“At this point, several buildings are on fire. One of them just collapsed; the other is completely gutted. It’s going to fall soon, too. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do,” the officer explains, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“So it’s, it’s all...gone?” Myka asks in disbelief. Her eyes grow wide and glassy. "That fast?“ Her heart races while her hands begin to tremble.

“Yeah, gone,” the officer offers. “I’m really sorry. But listen, the Red Cross is setting up a tent nearby. I’ll take you there.” She places a hand lightly on Myka’s upper arm and ushers her between emergency vehicles, toward the tent across the block.

“I’m sorry to have to ask but would you be up for a few questions?"

Wobbling as she walks and lost in thought, it takes a few moments for Myka to answer.

“Um, sure.”

They slow to a stop as they reach the tent. The officer wanders off to find a folding chair.

Myka stands in wait, clearly in shock, mind barely able to process what’s happening.

“I didn’t catch your name,” the officer asks upon returning.

The voice startles Myka out of her daze. 

“Myka. Myka Bering." Her eyes sting as she blinks and begin to water from the thick, smoke-laden air. 

“Thank you, Myka. I’m Sargent Rodriguez. Please, sit.” The officer unfolds the chair and presents it to Myka.

Myka apprehensively eyes the chair, then carefully lowers herself down, placing her bag securely on her lap.

Sgt. Rodriguez rests her hand on the back of the chair then squats down. She looks up at Myka.

“Did you ever smell gas in your building?"

“Sure, sometimes. But there was construction going on.”

“Did you report it?"

“M-my roommate did, once, to the landlady. She told her she’d take care of it,” Myka answers factually. She looks down at her bag.

“How long ago was this?"

“A couple of weeks ago?"

“Is your roommate here?” Sgt. Rodriguez gestures in the direction of the crowd.

Myka looks around and swallows nervously as she notes the sheer number of people milling about.

“I, uh...I don’t see her. I know she left for work this morning, but I have no idea if she’s here now. I hope she wasn’t somehow home. I need to call her,” Myka relays, suddenly sounding panicked. Heart racing, she fishes through her purse and frantically checks for calls on her phone. She lets out a sigh of relief and closes her eyes as she finds Kelly's name listed on her screen.

“If I were you, I’d call your roommate back, then join your neighbors gathering on the other side of the tent. But take your time, when you're ready," Sgt. Rodriguez suggests. She stands and flashes a sympathetic smile.

“I will,” Myka replies half-heartedly.

“Find me if you need anything, ok? Here’s my card. And take this flier."

Myka takes the card and paper, then watches as Sgt. Rodriguez walks away. She coughs, then sniffs, and pulls a tissue out of her purse to dab her nose; now cognizant of the polluted air filling up her lungs as she breathes. 

She lifts her phone and stares listlessly at the screen while flicking through her messages, stopping when she reaches the one from Kelly. Kelly is a friend of a friend she found the apartment through, and while she doesn’t know her very well, she knows she needs to call her back.

She takes in a deep breath, then hits call.

Kelly picks up immediately.

“Oh my god, Myka! Are you ok? Have you seen it? I mean it's _loco_ , right? You know what happened?” Kelly blurts, sounding distraught but relieved to hear from Myka.

“I've seen it. The whole building collapsed. And now the one next to it, too,” Myka relays incredulously. Her eyes glaze over, and she rubs the back of her neck as she watches the smoke rise in the distance.

“Really? I knew there was a fire, but...hey. Where are you?"

“I’m in a Red Cross tent near the fire."

"You're there? Like, right _there_? Can you see it? Should I come down there, too?"

Myka thinks for a second before answering. “Probably...well, no, I can’t see why. The fire’s still burning and honestly it’s super smokey. You should just go to Pete’s."

There’s a weighted pause. Myka stares blankly at the foot of a nearby folding table.

“Everything's gone? Like, all of it?”

“Yeah,” Myka says with finality. She hears a whimper, and the sound of a nose being cleared, and imagines Kelly holding back a sob.

“D-do you have somewhere to stay tonight?"

Myka blinks hard, snapping into the present. “I don't know. I need to make some calls. A cop gave me this flier....I guess there's a hotel nearby that I can stay at.” Suddenly remembering the officer’s words, she glances at the group of people on the other side of the tent but finds she doesn’t recognize any of them. She lowers her eyes and fixates on her hand as it rests on her bag.

"I-I can’t believe any of this is real right now."

The line quiets for several beats until Kelly clears her throat.

“Listen, if you can't find anywhere to stay, you can probably crash on Pete's couch if there’s not already some random guy sleeping there. Call me if you need anything, ok?"

"Thanks, Kelly."

"Take care of yourself."

"You, too."

Myka hangs up.

Mind reeling, she sits absolutely still, telling herself to focus and decide what to do next. She scrolls through the texts and calls she’s received, but can’t muster the energy to reply anything further than, "I’m ok.” She knows if she says her home has been destroyed out loud, she’ll break down entirely, and that’s not what she needs right now. Her battery is low, so she texts her sister and asks her to tell her parents there was a fire in her building, but she’s all right. She doesn’t want them to find out what’s happened from the news, but can’t deal with detailed explanations right now.

She looks toward the tent and tucks her phone into her purse then walks over to speak with an aid worker. 

“Hi. A police officer told me there’s a hotel nearby where we can stay the night?

The woman nods and asks Myka to fill out some forms. Upon completion, she's handed a bag of essentials and a booklet containing agencies and options available to her. The woman also confirms a hotel around the block has offered free room and board for three days to the victims of the fire.

Myka mechanically places the brochure in her purse and takes hold of the bag of essentials, then begins walking west toward the hotel. After a few steps, the aid worker stops her and explains she’ll have to walk further east, then down and over, as local streets within a two-block radius are all blocked. Myka takes one last look at the pile of smoldering rubble that was once her building, watching helplessly through the smoke as it’s doused by a field of fire trucks. She swallows hard to fend off potential tears, then turns and begins the short but epic walk to the hotel.

As she exits the cordoned off area, she successfully ignores the crowd hovering at the edges by focusing solely on reaching her potential shelter for the night. As she turns the corner from avenue to side street, she looks up, spying her destination as it towers above the usually low-rise neighborhood. She’s walked past the giant glass and steel building a million times but has never once thought to go inside. To her, it's always seemed out of place, like a missile launched from Dubai that accidentally landed on the Bowery. She finds it strange to be sent here now.

Upon entering the lobby, she immediately approaches the front desk and explains to the clerk why she’s there. He points towards a table near the bar and tells her she should talk to the sandy-haired older man seated there.

Myka walks up to the table and looks directly at the man. 

“The front desk sent me here. A woman at the Red Cross said your hotel offered to put up victims from the fire, and I need somewhere to stay,” she says with as steady of a voice as she can muster. She stands stiffly and clutches her care bag tightly.

The man looks her up and down judgmentally.

“We will, yes, but you have to provide ID and proof residence,” he replies. His voice is rough and raspy.

Myka sets the bag on the table and slips her purse off of her shoulder. She shakily locates her wallet and pulls out her driver's license then hands it to the man.

“I have ID, but I don’t have proof of residence. I was subletting. I’ve only lived here for a few months. I-I can call my roommate if you need confirmation,” Myka explains nervously.

The man takes Myka’s ID and inspects at it carefully.

“Where is she, the roommate?"

“At her boyfriend’s.”

Myka's mind jumps to her conversation with Kelly earlier. Her chest tightens at the thought of Kelly’s life burned into oblivion along with her own.

The man clears his throat and Myka snaps to attention. 

"I know my ID says Colorado,” she announces and angles herself slightly forward to point at the ID. “But I work at an art gallery down the street. I can get a pay stub from there tomorrow, but I don’t have anywhere to stay tonight.” She pulls back and anxiously waits for the man’s reply.

He holds her ID at arms length and squints at it while rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know…."

Myka’s attention quickly shifts as a woman with long dark hair appears out of nowhere. She places her hands squarely on the man’s shoulders and leans over him slightly, surreptitiously eyeing Myka’s ID. Just above the crown of the man’s head, a shiny, silver pendant catches Myka's eye, dangling from a chain around the woman's neck. Quite unconsciously, her focus wanders beyond the necklace and traces the curve of her collar down, following the edge of the shirt until she realizes she’s taking in an inappropriate view of her chest. She swiftly averts her eyes, feeling embarrassed to be staring.

“Walter, what’s the problem here?” the woman sternly questions as she moves to the side. “I know this woman.” She nods with resolve towards Myka.

“You do?” Walter grunts. He eyes her skeptically.

“Yes, I do," the woman answers firmly. "This is Myka.” She waves a hand pointedly at Myka. "She lives up the street, in one of the buildings currently on fire.” She turns to face Myka directly.

Myka meets her gaze, her eyes filled with confusion.

Hand on hip, the woman takes a step back and looks Myka up and down, assessing her form. “Perhaps you don’t remember me?” she asks, sounding slightly affronted.

Myka opens her mouth to speak but finds she's at a loss for words. She stares at the woman blankly, realizing she needs to pull herself quickly together, or she'll soon be out on the street and homeless.

The question is, _has_ she met this woman before? She takes a closer look. First off, she's strikingly beautiful. Her hair is razor straight, jet black and set upon impossibly pale skin. Her crisp white button down is rolled up to the elbows, revealing sinewy forearms and work-worn hands. She’s angular, thin, perhaps too thin, as her cheeks are somewhat hollow; her eyes are dark. She speaks with an accent, maybe English and looks to be in her thirties. Myka wracks her brain for a hint of recognition but thinks she can safely say she’s never met this woman before.

"I see I must not have made much of an impression," the woman retorts. "You don’t recall the 'meet and greet' work soiree at Claudia Donovan's?"

Myka searches her mind for a memory of the event but comes up blank.

The woman continues, hand still on hip, overemphasizing her words as she paces in small circles back and forth. "We made small talk. I said I worked _here_.” She pauses and swirls a finger at the room, then continues moving. “And _you_ said you lived above the Belgian fries shop.” She wafts a hand in Myka's general direction. "Then _I_ said ’small world, isn’t it?'” She stops in front of Myka and narrows her eyes firmly.

Myka takes the hint and casts a look of recognition. “Oh! Right. Yeah. I’m sorry. I was a bit preoccupied that night.”

The woman angles her head and looks down. “Clearly not with me,” she quietly mumbles, her words are meant for Myka but spoken loud enough to be overheard by Walter. The woman then perks up excitedly, as if she’s had an epiphany. "That's right; I believe you mentioned you a work trip the next day and thought you shouldn't be at a party at all."

“You remember all that?” Walter croaks. He shakes his head, then eyes the woman suspiciously.

The woman raises a brow. “Oh, Walter. You of all people know I never forget a pretty face,” she states matter-of-factly, but with a hint of cheek.

Walter sighs and holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine. You win,” he grumbles. He turns toward Myka and hands her a keycard. “Ok, _Myka_ , you’re in room 1015. And take these vouchers. You can eat at any of the restaurants in the hotel."

”She may need something a bit stronger after today,” The woman quips. She flashes Myka a reassuring smile.

Myka’s lips quirk up at the ends, forming a small, pitiful smile in return. Her hand involuntarily clenches around the keycard as she stares blankly at the woman for a moment. She looks down at the card, then back up at the woman and eyes her questioningly.

“Oh, right. Let me show you to your room.” The woman springs forward, recognizing Myka needs further assistance. “Walter, I won’t be a minute."

“You do need to bartend at some point tonight, H.G.,” Walter instructs dryly.

H.G. narrows her eyes and purses her lips. “Helping people is my first priority tonight. No one is coming here for merriment and drink, as presently the entire neighborhood is akin to a barbecue pit,” she points out. “Nevertheless, I'll be back, tout suite.”

Walter grimaces and hands Myka her ID. Myka picks up her purse and care package then looks toward H.G. H.G. ticks her head to the side, motioning for Myka to follow her.

The pair walk across the bar and upon reaching the elevator, H.G. pushes the up button. As they wait, Myka finds her voice.

“Thank you, um, H.G, right? Today’s been...” Myka trails off, feeling suddenly at a loss for words.

H.G. quickly intervenes. “Please, call me Helena."

”Helena,” Myka repeats softly. Her’s shoulders slump and her gaze lowers to the floor.

"No need to thank me, really,” Helena explains. "That man, Walter, is a complete ass. I saw him giving you a hard time and thought I might swoop and save you; be your knight in shining armor,” she admits with a hint of mirth.

Myka huffs out an amused laugh and closes her eyes.

“Perhaps a poor choice of words, given the situation,” Helena relays soberly. “I was correct, then? You did lose your home today."

“I-I lived above the sushi restaurant, not the fries, but, yeah,” Myka admits She lifts her head slightly and angles her eyes up, viewing Helena through heavy-lidded lashes. Her grip tightens on her bag.

“I’m so very sorry to hear that," Helena offers in consolation. "You must be absolutely gutted by all of this.” She lays a hand gently on Myka’s shoulder in comfort.

At Helena's touch, Myka raises her head, revealing eyes filled with an indescribable sorrow.

Helena holds Myka’s gaze and squeezes her shoulder. "If you feel comfortable, leave your clothes in a bag in the hall, and I'll have them laundered. I’ll find some clean clothes for you tonight and leave them for the morning."

The elevator doors open and Myka steps in. She turns to reply but finds she can only manage to stare at Helena.

“You’ll get things sorted tomorrow. Tonight, shower. Rest,” Helena suggests, her voice projecting positive vibes.

Helena disappears as the doors close and the car begins its journey skyward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is my first AU and the first part in a two part series. For part one I wanted to try to write something simple, concise; to set up a scenario that builds and unfolds over time, and has a positive ending (it will!!). I thought it would be just a few chapters long, but it's going to be more like ~~seven or eight~~ (or more...) I think, so I can really work on descriptions.
> 
> The catastrophe is totally ripped from the headlines and happened recently near me….I’ve been trying to find a way to process it and decided to use the lens of B&W as a framework.
> 
> In any event, I hope you enjoy the story and please throw comments/criticism my way!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Myka again as she reaches her hotel room the first evening after the fire. This chapter gives a rundown how her next day plays out, and how she’s coping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s going to take a little while to get Myka out of crisis mode folks, so bear with me here. I want M+H’s relationship build brick by brick, and that takes time. (Ok perhaps a bad metaphor but.....)
> 
> NOTE: If you read this over on Tumblr a while ago I reworked some parts before bringing it over here - it *should* be a fraction more readable.
> 
>  **NOTE:** 6/27/16 - still chipping away at the big re-edit. This should be a vast improvement over the the former text from a year ago.

```````````````````````

> _Growth is inevitable and desirable, but destruction of community character is not. The question is not whether your part of the world is going to change. The question is how._  
>  (Edward T. McMahon) 

```````````````````````

The elevator doors open and Myka steps hesitantly into the hall. She scours the area for directions and once located, moves toward her suite with purpose.

Leaning on the door handle, care bag in hand, she fumbles with the keycard then swipes it unsuccessfully several times before the small rectangular light blinks green. The door jerks open and she stumbles in then drops her bags with abandon to the floor. She blindly walks the few short steps to the bed then immediately flops down and crawls on top. As her head sinks into the pillows, her eyes close and she soon falls into a heavy sleep. 

When her eyes open, the room is far too bright, and she blinks, hard, barely managing to squint in the light. Mid-yawn, she begins to cough and frowns at the taste of smoke rising from her lungs. Wrestling with gravity, she pushes herself up then falls back against the headboard, finding her limbs weak with exhaustion. She rubs her eyes then licks her lips and swallows, but the action does little to wet her overly dry mouth. 

Her muscles ache as they pull taut while stretching and she pictures herself glued to the bed as she slept. She strains to focus on the nearby clock but manages to determine it’s 7:05 AM. As she runs a shaky hand through her hair, she sighs as her fingers catch on her now very loose bun, and decides that's her cue to shower.

Sliding off the bed one leg at a time, she drags herself to the bathroom and peels off her smoke infused clothes in what must be slow motion. She steps dutifully into the shower and turns on the tap yet the sensation of water hitting her skin barely registers.

An indeterminate amount of time later, she turns the water off and stands dripping, staring absently at the wall. Donning a robe as she exits, she returns to the main room and walks instinctively toward the floor to ceiling windows. The sweeping vista includes a view of the still smoldering fire, and her chest tightens at the sight. Her hand rises to cover her mouth as she fights back a sob and decisively turns away.

Standing perfectly still, she stares blankly across the room, then squeezes her eyes shut, forcing her mind to clear. Out of nowhere, a vision of the dark haired woman from last night flashes forward, instructing her to leave her clothes outside the door. Her eyes spring open, and she looks toward the door, but her focus lands on her boots lying scattered across the floor.

She shuffles toward the entryway and opens it a crack then peeks apprehensively out into the hall. A medium sized blue plastic bag hangs from the handle, and she gingerly slips it off then closes the door. She walks hazily back into the room while untying the handles, then dumps the entire contents onto the bed.

Sifting through the pile, she notes a pair of jeans, several t-shirts, a zip-up hoodie, and a few undergarments in brand new packaging. The corners of her mouth upturn subtly as she reads “eat me immediately” written in sharpie on a white paper bag. She opens it and notes its contents include a croissant, a candy bar, and a piece of paper. She pulls out the paper first and carefully unfolds it.

>   
>  _Myka,_
> 
> _I’m sorry to announce I was unable to locate garments as fashionable as your current attire, but I do hope something works for you. I did the best I could with what was available._
> 
> _Please place the above-mentioned fashionable attire in this bag and hang it outside the door. I’ll have everything laundered and ready to wear by end of day._
> 
> _If you decide not to leave the room today, I beg you to eat something. Consider ordering room service. The hotel will pay._
> 
> _I’m here today until 5. Do not hesitate to call or find me in person if you need anything at all. My number is below._
> 
> _Please take care,_
> 
> _Helena_
> 
>   
> 

She drops the note and mechanically moves to gather her clothes from the bathroom. As she lifts her dress off the floor, she suddenly realizes it worth; it's the last dress left out of the countless ones she owns. 

_Owned._

Kneeling down, she hugs the dress tightly, burying her face in the fabric, breathing in the stale smell of smoke; mind caught in a loop, scrolling through her personal inventory. Everything she brought with her to New York: clothes, shoes, jewelry, records, books, photos; her bed, her sketchbooks, the vintage dresses it’s taken a lifetime to collect, the paintings she’s made over the last four months: all gone.

She releases her grip on the dress, and wipes the tears from her eyes, then concentrates on gathering the remaining clothes from the floor. Though it sounds odd, she decides she'll trust this woman, this _Helena_ , with her few remaining possessions. She folds the dress and jacket and places them in the bag, then hangs it on the knob outside the door.

She turns and studies the pile of clothes on the bed, but instead of dressing, feels compelled to lie back down, if only for a minute. Climbing back on top, she falls with abandon onto the pillows, causing the white paper bag to jump and hit her on the nose. She lifts the bag and reads the text again then removes the croissant. She nibbles at a corner but soon loses interest. A few minutes later she nods off.

It’s noon when she wakes for the second time. Feeling more alert than earlier, she checks her phone, flicking through innumerable texts and voice mail messages. 

A mild panic courses through her as she realizes she hasn’t called work to tell them she won’t be coming in. Maybe she should go in anyway, she thinks, since her laptop and phone charger are there. She could hide in the back and do some work; it might just take her mind off of things.

She tries on the clothes Helena left for her and while the t-shirt is shapeless and the jeans a little baggy, the result is overall doable. Plus she doesn’t have the agency nor the energy to be picky right now. Locating her care bag from the Red Cross near the door, she pulls out a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a comb and moves toward the bathroom. While attempting to tame her curls, she stills, staring at her reflection, wishing she had a little makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes. A little defrizzer would be nice, too. She shakes her head, thinking in light of yesterday's events, it’s absurd to be worrying about these things. Don't get caught in the details, keep moving forward.

She dons the zip-up hoody, then pulls on her boots and throws her phone and Helena's note into her bag. Striding over to the door, she grabs hold of the handle but wavers as she tries to leave. Feeling suddenly faint, she leans on its cool surface for a moment to compose herself. She realizes she hasn’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours and remembers Helena's care package then defeatedly heads back to the bed. She stuffs the rest of the croissant into her mouth but debates the candy bar then decides she knows she won't eat anything otherwise, and decides to give it a go.

She travels back to the door, this time with more energy, and lets herself out.

Exiting the elevator, she walks across the lobby and pauses at the table where she checked in last night. Noting it’s now covered in flyers and other materials, she flips through a newspaper but quickly moves on, finding the images and information hard to stomach. She learns that while several people were hurt, two are still missing; crews are still searching through the rubble.

Spying a jacket on the chair behind the table, she scurries out, deciding not to wait for the owners to return. 

As she exits the building, she identifies a faint smell of smoke permeating the air. The thought crosses her mind to visit the scene of the fire, but her body takes her in the opposite direction, directly towards work.

The journey is quick, uneventful; everyone on the street seems to be going about their day in a typical fashion. Upon arrival at the gallery, her co-workers huddle around her, offering condolences, asking if there's anything she needs. She says she hasn’t seen much press, so they move her to a computer nd search for pictures, all chattering at once about their experiences with the day. Her eyes grow watery as she listens to their tales, but she tries her best to contain her horror and grief.

An elegant older woman in her fifties soon appears on the scene and asks what all the fuss is about. She notices Myka’s obvious discomfort, and orders everyone back to work. As the group scatters, she informs Myka she’d like to speak with her in private. Myka dutifully follows the woman as she walks towards her office.

Myka hovers worriedly at the door while the woman rounds her desk and takes a seat. The woman motions for Myka to sit in an adjacent chair and Myka complies but sits poised on the edge, posture stiff, hands folded neatly on her lap.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Myka. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” the woman says, sounding genuinely sympathetic. "I know we haven’t interacted much during your short time here, but Leena raves about your work all the time. I wanted to tell you personally not to worry; your job is secure. We’ll cover for you while you get back on your feet. Leena would say the same if she were in town.”

“Thank you, Vanessa,” Myka says softly, her voice filled with gratitude toward the co-owner of the gallery. 

“I know this isn’t the right time to say this, but we'll be needing a temporary registrar when Leena goes on maternity leave, and we were hoping it might be you,” Vanessa discloses. 

“Really? Wow. That’s...I’d be honored,” Myka replies. She attempts to voice interest but finds enthusiasm is hard to muster.

“You don’t have to decide this minute, but keep it in mind.”

"Thank you," Myka repeats.

“Can I just ask, do you have somewhere to stay?”

Myka nervously looks down at her hands. 

“I-I haven’t asked around much, yet. My phone almost died last night, and I was….” 

She pauses, catching herself rambling. 

“There’s a hotel nearby that offered to put up victims from the fire. I'm staying there for a few days.“

“Great. Glad to hear it. If you need anything after that let me know and I'll make some calls,” Vanessa offers plainly.

“That’s very kind of you,” Myka replies. She laces her fingers together and rubs a thumb over her forefinger, feeling thankful but anxious, not wanting to think about the future just yet.

“Feel free to use the office to do whatever you need. I canceled all the meetings scheduled today, so the conference room is free.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Myka replies. She rises and gives a tiny, awkward bow, then exits the room.

She walks in a haze from Vanessa’s office to Leena’s, all the while weighing the consequences of her next action with the most efficient way to proceed. When she reaches her desk, she grabs her laptop and phone charger and shuffles up the stairs to the conference room.

Deciding her priority is checking messages, she swiftly locates an outlet and plugs in her phone. First on the agenda is to call her mother, who is hysterical in her message but calms quickly once Myka is on the line. She offers to fly out and help, but Myka says it’s not worth the bother, that Dad would be upset at the cost. He probably thinks this whole thing serves her right for moving to that “godawful city,” she complains. Her mother counters, stating her father cares and is worried about her too; to which Myka scoffs indignantly. Ignoring Myka’s response, her mother rambles on, relaying that her sister, Tracy, wants to help, but has her hands full with the baby. Myka tells her not to worry, that she'll figure things out; she has friends and a little savings, and she’s certain she’ll be fine. Feeling overwhelmed by her mother's questions, she says she's at work and has to go but will call later. She then hangs up.

Dragging a hand through her hair, she restlessly palms the back of her neck, struggling to shake off thoughts of her family. As a distraction, she opens her laptop and checks her email, digging deep to muster the energy to write replies. She types quick, pithy answers: yes she’s ok; yes she lost everything; no, she doesn’t know what she’s going to do; yes she's looking for suggestions. When she checks the time, it’s a little after four, and she realizes she’s not sure how long she’s been here. Feeling unable to focus any longer, she shuts the laptop and crumples over, elbow on desk, chin in hand. Her shoulders slump as she exhales and her eyes close as exhaustion takes over.

Her eyes shoot open at the memory of Helena’s note. Helena said she’d be at work until five, and Myka would like to catch her before she leaves, if only to say thank you. She pulls the note out of her bag and then texts the number written there, asking Helena to meet around four-thirty if possible. Helena immediately texts back, saying to meet where they met yesterday and adds a thumbs up emoticon.

Myka quickly packs her few belongings then rises and descends the stairs. As walks towards the exit, she relays cursory goodbyes to her co-workers, saying she’ll stop by sometime tomorrow. Someone asks if she wants to get dinner tonight, but she graciously declines. All she wants to do tonight is to be alone.

The feel of the pavement under her feet barely registers as she briskly walks the short distance to the hotel. Upon entering, she immediately locates Helena sitting at a table, head down, paperwork spread in front of her, a plate of food lying adjacent. Myka stops just short of the table and stands, staring at the scene.

Helena raises her head and brushes her hair out of her face then flashes a bright, welcoming smile. She pushes back from the table and stands, placing a hand on her hip, tilting her head while scanning Myka up and down thoughtfully.

“Not too shabby, but not entirely you.“

“Excuse me?”

“The ensemble.”

The word comes out “en-som-blé” in Helena’s charismatic, almost aristocratic English accent, causing Myka to imagine her outfit as something regal. She inspects what she’s wearing, making sure it’s still jeans and a t-shirt, then eyes Helena quizzically.

Helena smirks with amusement. 

"I'm pleased the clothes fit you all right. I’ve acquired more if you have any interest,” she adds while pointing to a bag on the floor.

“Thank you,” Myka mumbles. Her eyes perk up a little at the sight.

“Please, sit,” Helena instructs and extends a hand toward a chair. 

Myka moves toward the table but wobbles slightly, feeling suddenly dizzy.

Helena jumps to steady her, but Myka grabs the back of a chair first.

“You’ve not eaten today, have you?” Helena scolds.

Myka shakes her head.

“Then you must. Please. Sit, eat,” Helena pleads. She gestures toward the plate. "Unless, of course, you’re gluten free.“ 

"I'm not."

“Then I shall glare at you, mercilessly, until your plate’s at least half full," Helena quips with an undertone of humor. 

Myka glances at the plate, then Helena, who is, indeed, glaring continuously. She sits as instructed and picks up the fork then twirls it in the pasta. Keeping eye contact with Helena, she places it in her mouth and chews.

Helena grins in approval and takes a seat.

“Now, there’s a good girl. Have some more,” Helena instructs and nods at the plate. 

Myka suddenly feels like a child. She continues chewing, then swallows, and impulsively asks, “Why are you helping me?”

Helena’s grin fades.

“I mean, thank you, thank you so much…but I’m a complete stranger, and you’re obviously going out of your way to help me.” Realizing the words sound accusatory rather than thankful, Myka backpedals. 

“I know all too well what it’s like lose everything,” Helena admits. 

Her eyes darken. 

“You see, my parents and brother were killed in a boating accident when I was twelve. I was the sole survivor,” she reveals. She avoids eye contact and stares at a random point across the room.

Myka abandons interest in her pasta, caught up in the sight of Helena, sitting motionless, lost in memories. She suddenly notices Helena’s appearance; her tresses, though still shiny, are no longer razor straight, they now exhibit a slight wave and a bit of frizz. Her formerly crisp shirt is crumpled, soiled. Her eyes droop tiredly and are dark underneath; her skin looks worn-out, lifeless.

A pang of empathy runs through Myka as she imagines her own loss triggering unpleasant memories for Helena, perhaps even causing her to lose sleep. 

“I’m so sorry, Helena,” she eventually musters in response.

Myka's words startle Helena out of her introspection, and she turns to address Myka with glassy eyes.

“No matter, it was quite a long time ago,” she quips.

She glances at Myka's plate and promptly switches gears, resuming her glare upon noticing Myka’s no longer eating. Her brows furrow furiously causing her forehead to wrinkle in a somewhat comic way. 

“Continue,” she orders commandingly but with a hint playfulness.

Myka quickly complies.

“By the way, I suggest you hurry. I've decided I’m not leaving until you finish that plate, and I’m meant to pick up my daughter by five-thirty,” Helena states.

“Daughter?” Myka questions, her eyes angling up mid-chew.

“Christina. Eight. Currently practicing after school martial arts,” Helena elaborates. She raises an eyebrow defensively, in wait of Myka's response.

"Ok," Myka answers, feeling unable to process any of the information she's learning about Helena right now. She manages a tiny crooked smile in response and continues eating, but senses Helena has something further on her mind.

Helena angles her eyes down and fiddles with a ring on her finger. She wets her lips and takes a deep breath in, then slowly looks up at Myka. 

“I’m sure you have many engagements to attend to, but I was hoping you might meet me here tomorrow at four. My shift starts at five, but I’d like to speak with you further if you’re amenable.”

”Sure,” Myka blurts, nodding automatically, not at all able to process the concept of tomorrow.

Helena gives a small smile, then proceeds to gather the papers from the table and place them in her canvas tote bag. 

“I must run, but be sure to take the clothes up with you.” 

She rises and begins to leave but turns abruptly, altering course at the last minute. She crosses the room, then leans over the bar and nearly falls over head-first while reaching for something by the cash register. Holding steady for a moment, she finds an equilibrium and in one fell swoop grabs the item and rapidly flips back, her feet landing on the floor with a thud.

Myka chuckles lightly at Helena’s near spill, then thinks to herself how foreign the sensation of mirth feels right now.

Helena returns swiftly, holding a dry cleaning bag. She balances the hanger on the ends of two fingers and extends her arm then bows down in front of Myka. 

"The pièce de résistance, fair maiden.”

Myka tilts her head, eyeing Helena curiously as she stands. She decides that this woman, this _Helena_ —last name unknown— is, from external appearances, far too charming and exceedingly good-looking to seem approachable, even in her disheveled state. Yet scratch the surface and she’s gracious, eloquent, and somewhat silly; conceivably related to the fact that she's a mother, but true nonetheless. The thought unexpectedly crosses her mind that all of these qualities combined form a rather _attractive_ mix

She accepts the clothing dangling from Helena’s fingers, and Helena gracefully completes the bow then hurries off.

Myka’s gaze follows Helena’s form and holds on the doorway momentarily after she exits. When she turns back to the table, she drapes the dry cleaning over an unoccupied chair, then looks toward the spot at the bar most recently occupied by Helena.

She thinks to herself how is it even remotely possible to feel attracted to someone at a time like this. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, rubbing circles with thumb and forefinger finger over her temples. Chalking it up to complete and utter exhaustion, she drags her hand down her face and holds it over her mouth. A few moments later she digs back into her pasta.

After finishing the meal solo, she gathers her things and travels up to her suite. A gratified smile forms on her lips as she hangs up her dress and coat, profoundly pleased to have them back safely. She opens the bag of clothes Helena left for her and dumps them on the bed then promptly sorts through. Feeling a surge of energy from dinner, she spends the evening fielding calls, emails, and texts to sort out what needs to happen next for her to move forward.

Later, as she unwinds in bed, she reviews the days events, recognizing the combination of Vanessa’s benevolent kindness, Helena's jaunty antics, and a proper meal together have given her the strength to face her eminently uncertain future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myka's next day proves to be quite the emotional rollercoaster......


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka tries to pull it together but is an emotional yo-yo today. This chapter allows some closure, but she still has several hurdles to cross before her head is above water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epic re-edit posted: 07/06/16

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> _All cities are mad: but the madness is gallant. All cities are beautiful: but the beauty is grim.  
>  ~Christopher Morley, Where the Blue Begins_

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When Myka wakes on Saturday, she decides to tackle the day head on. With only a single night left of free lodging, she knows she needs to pull herself together as soon as possible. She could pay for an extra night if need be but she'd rather not as she's sure the rate is beyond her means.

She eats breakfast at the hotel and compiles several lists: one prioritizing need-to-get-now necessities and another outlining the steps toward finding a new place to live. 

Her first task involves clothing, finding something she feels comfortable wearing, for now; she’ll worry about work clothes later. Shopping has never been straightforward for her, as her tall, thin yet shapely physique denies the fit of average clothes for women. She finds shirts the correct width in the torso are never long enough, and usually too tight in the chest and shoulders, but larger sizes tend to be boxy, shapeless, and if long-sleeved, the arms are much too short. Pants present similar issues; her curvy but slim hips are not the problem, finding her size in a long enough length is. And it’s taken years of trial and error to establish suitable undergarments for her frame; those that lift, separate, and shape properly are difficult to come by. Shoes are or miss as her size is slightly larger than the norm though actually proportional to her height.

These are the quandaries that led her to explore the worlds of vintage clothes and small label designers; garments made of unique, colorful fabrics, their styles varying by decade and typically already tailored. She’d filled her wardrobe with mostly dresses but also shirts, shoes, and jewelry, making it easy to mix and match depending on her mood or impulse to wear something unusual to work.

She shakes her head introspectively, stopping herself there, not wanting to get tangled up in memories, reminding herself there’s no time to dwell on the past. What once was is no longer; time to move on. Closing her eyes, she breathes in a deep, cleansing breath and exhales slowly, taking a moment to compose herself before tackling the day.

She uses her phone to search for stores and is pleased to find several viable options nearby. The discovery calms her, and she feels optimistic a city this large can provide what she needs in an instant. She leaves a food voucher and a tip on the table and removes her jacket from the chair, then exits the hotel, determined to focus on the here and now.

Carrying ample purchases in hand, she returns to her room around mid-day and performs her usual getting-ready-to-leave-the-house ritual. This begins by taming her curls with several products, applying a sparse but calculated amount of makeup, and accessorizing with new earrings and a necklace. She pulls on a pair of form fitting dark jeans and a shapely lightweight t-shirt, then tops it off with a soft cotton button down and a pair of casual boots. She finishes the outfit with a belt and inspects herself in the mirror, deciding she not only looks like but maybe even feels a little like herself again.

She makes a quick trip to the gallery though it’s not necessary per se, deciding the idea of visiting somewhere familiar is inviting. Plus yesterday she said she’d stop by, and she’s not one to go back on her word, no matter the circumstance.

Conversation stays on the light side as she chats with coworkers, which grants her the lucidity to make plans to meet later for dinner with friends. Noting the time, she says her goodbyes and heads back to the hotel.

As she walks, she feels pang of anticipation and is surprised to identify it as positive; she's actually looking forward to seeing Helena. Recognizing she finds solace in her presence, she decides it's perhaps due to Helena having suffered a loss, too, albeit one far greater than her own.

A wave of deja vu washes over her as she locates Helena, sitting at a table, papers spread in front of her, wearing an outfit similar to yesterday though now fresh and clean, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. As Helena angles her head up, noticing Myka's arrival, Myka notes her eyes are brighter, and her skin is rosier than before.

“Hello!” Helena greets brightly. She abruptly rises, and moves forward, then slightly back, as if uncertain how to greet Myka.

“You look…" she starts, but pauses as her eyes pan up and down Myka’s form. "Rested. There's a bit more life in you today. And your new outfit's rather fetching, is it not? Far more fitting than I was able to provide.”

Myka’s lips rise upwards into a small smile at the compliment, feeling pleased with Helena’s praise. It’s endearing the way Helena unknowingly exudes charm when saying the simplest of things, she thinks. Just the sight of this woman fills her with a genuine buoyancy, something akin to affection, beyond anything she should be feeling right now. Perhaps, she speculates, it’s in recognition of the comfort Helena’s provided over the last two days or a childlike reaction to Helena’s motherly tone.

Helena stares at Myka for a beat too long, then blinks suddenly and regains her focus. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to…” she stutters briefly, then completely switches gears. “Have you eaten today?”

Myka watches intently as Helena’s confusion morphs into concern and decides Helena must think she’s delirious from hunger. She did eat earlier but thinks Helena might right; she's feeling a little delirious in general these days.

“I did. And I already made plans with friends for later,” Myka announces proudly.

“Excellent. Please continue to do so, regularly,” Helena instructs. She arches a brow sternly, but her lips curl up in approval.

They hold each other's gaze for several moments before Myka looks away, glancing at a chair for lack of a better target. She sits hastily, deciding it’s the right thing to do, but once seated, wonders if Helena is standing for a reason.

Helena follows and sits next to her. She fidgets with the ring, and looks directly at Myka, taking a deep breath in before she speaks.

“I’ll get right to the point as we have limited time,” she begins and lays her hands flat on the table.

“I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I’m assuming, as your mood has improved, you’ve not yet ventured back to the scene,” she speculates. “I’d like to accompany you, if you’re willing, to view the remnants of your home, right now. Today.”

She laces her fingers together and leans forward expectantly.

Myka pulls back, her expression falling flat, her heart sinking sharply.

“I-I’ve seen pictures. There’s nothing left. Why would I need to see it in person?” she asks nervously.

Helena presses her lips together into a thin line. She eyes Myka sternly.

“It’d be wise to witness it in its present state. Talk to the police, firefighters, aid workers. Perhaps gain some closure.”

“I don’t know,” Myka mumbles. “This might…” She hesitates and looks directly at Helena, her eyes over round, filled with worry. "This might mess up all of my progress.”

“As you wish,” Helena says flippantly. She grimaces in disapproval and leans back in her chair.

Myka looks down, thinking she really doesn’t want to talk about this right now. She wishes Helena would understand.

Helena speaks up again before Myka manages a response. 

“I’d venture, after today, once you’re more sorted, you may regret not taking the time to make peace with what’s happened,” Helena adds gently.

Myka looks up and meets Helena gaze, finding her eyes brimming with heartfelt concern. 

“I’d also wager a shiny glass tower will appear on the scene in less than a fortnight,” Helena jests. She crosses her arms and gives a small, smug smirk.

Myka stares blankly at Helena, lost in thought, mulling over her earlier suggestion of visiting the site. She recalls Helena’s tragic story and decides in her heart Helena is right; no matter how painful this might be, it’s the right thing to do. The thought crosses her mind that, in fact, the act might benefit them both somehow.

She glances at the clock behind the bar and notes it’s 4:10.

“Let’s go.”

Helena sweeps the papers littering the table into her bag, then swiftly places the bag behind the bar.

Myka rises, and they exit the hotel.

They walk in silence, first north half a block, then east. Myka grows increasingly anxious with every step and Helena side eyeing her every few paces does little to assuage her fears. She studies the architecture of the block to avoid Helena’s glances and realizes she hasn’t traveled in this direction since the fire. Not on purpose, she thinks; truthfully she's had no reason to walk this direction. 

She then recalls a fact learned in Psych 101: denial is the first step in the cycle of grief. Denial and _isolation_. She freezes at the thought and stares wide-eyed at the ground, thinking the description fits her mental state to a “T.” 

Helena walks ahead, then swings around when she realizes Myka is no longer with her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks worriedly and steps closer to Myka.

Myka doesn’t respond.

Helena grips Myka’s upper arms and squeezes them gently. She then crouches down just enough to catch Myka’s eye.

“Myka, look at me.”

Myka slowly lifts her head.

“I’m certain you can do this. You _need_ to do this. Don't let fear be your guide,” Helena says determinedly. “Grieve now and move forward with clarity.”

She grasps Myka’s arms tighter and gives her a small shake.

“Let me help you,“ she demands fervently.

Myka jerks free of Helena’s hold and nearly cries out “no,” impetuously taking offense to Helena’s tone. She glowers defensively but soon reconsiders, finding the blinding sincerity in Helena’s eyes hard to ignore. This is not her overbearing father, eternally proclaiming he knows what’s best for her, nor her loving but doting ex-boyfriend, who never understand what she truly needed. This is a woman she barely knows going out of her way to help, one who's genuinely offering, and possibly able, to guide her through her pain.

“Fine,” she barks through her teeth, nostrils flaring as she struggles to control her misplaced anger. She crosses her arms over her chest tightly but tempers her glare.

Helena nods once, slowly and solemnly, all the while keeping eye contact with Myka. She lays a hand on Myka’s shoulder and gently guides her forward.

As they reach the avenue, they find a profusion of movable metal fences radiating out in every direction, halting the usual city activities. The site is littered with busses, cherry pickers, bulldozers, dump trucks, and police cars. In addition to the aid workers tent, there's a criminal investigation tent and crime scene tape winds around specific areas. Myka relays details to Helena, stating two people are still missing, and it’s suspected the explosion was caused by illegal gas siphoning. 

Her gaze travels up beyond the cluster of vehicles and catches on the gaping void left where three tenements once stood. Her stomach knots as she spies the side of a remaining building, barely visible beyond the barricades, charred at the top, all of its windows broken and boarded up. Scanning down, she stops to analyze a sliver of debris and decides the remains are mostly splintered wooden beams and charred earth. She stares gaping in disbelief.

"Helena, do you see…” she starts. She turns toward Helena but finds her missing then anxiously scours the area to find her. She calms as she spies her standing nearby, talking to a police officer. Helena points toward Myka, then motions for Myka to join them. Myka’s feet move in an instant.

“Unbelievable isn’t it,” the cop says a tad too casually for Myka's taste. “You’ve registered with us as a victim, right? We have your info? Do you need to talk to the Red Cross?”

Myka glances briefly at the cop, then immediately back at the rubble, mind racing through memories of the night of the fire, so vivid now she can almost feel the density of the smoke. She does her best to swallow rising feelings of devastation but finds herself unable to answer.

Helena steps in. “She has, I believe, the night of the fire. Isn’t that right Myka?” She turns toward Myka expectantly but keeps her expression flat.

Myka nods weakly.

Helena addresses the officer again. "Could we perhaps move a bit closer, to view the scene in its entirety? There’s no real danger presently, correct?”

Helena side eyes Myka as if to gauge her reaction to the idea. Myka doesn’t flinch.

The officer looks towards the scene, then turns back. "I don’t see why not. You can’t get too close, but I’ll take you in.”

He moves a section of the barricade, allowing the women to enter.

Myka hesitates, and Helena places a hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her through. They weave their way behind the officer through the maze of vehicles and tents, and stop as the disaster comes into full view.

“OK ladies. This is about as close as we can get. You’re fine here for now. I’ll be over there, let me know if you need anything,” he instructs while pointing to a tent nearby.

Myka barely registers the sound of Helena saying “Thank you, officer” as the officer walks away. She stares at the mound of detritus rising two stories high in front of her, its shape tumbling into the street in all directions. Hardly a shred is recognizable; a deformed window here, a bit of roof there. Wooden beams jut out in all directions like oversized matchsticks and bricks pour through the spaces in between like pebbles. A row of parked cars has been swallowed by the mass, while a phone booth, mailbox, and garbage can sit relatively untouched; all stalwart witnesses to the entire escapade. Like a makeshift altar to the catastrophe, the iron framework of a storefront thrusts skyward, coincidentally the last fragment visible of her building.

Feeling angry, heartbroken, and gutted all at once, Myka tenses, her face turning solid, immovable. A hand flys up to her cover her mouth as tears silently stream down her face, her mind overcome by thoughts of her and Kelly’s apartment, of her things completely obliterated, buried somewhere in the mound.

Her chest hitches as she fights back a sob.

Helena reaches out a hand in comfort but at the last minute pulls back and instead offers words of comfort.

“It's ok, love. Let it out,” she advises softly and tilts her head to gain Myka’s attention. "Or, make sure you have a good cry in your room later, all right?”

Myka sniffs deeply and scrubs her hand over her nose then wipes the tears from her face on her sleeve. She takes in a deep breath and holds it, then exhales while looking toward Helena. As their eyes meet, Myka notices Helena’s cheeks are glistening; she’s been crying, too.

Helena runs a hand raggedly through her hair, and as it pushes away from her face, Myka sees the depth of her despair. She holds Myka’s gaze for a few moments then abruptly looks down and slips her phone from her pocket.

“I’m sorry to say, I must go,” she says apologetically while checking the time. “Stay if you like, but I think you should accompany me.”

Myka turns towards the rubble and stands solemnly, arms crossed, scanning the massive pile. She chews anxiously on her bottom lip then sighs heavily and turns back to Helena.

“We can go,” she announces soberly.

Helena nods and begins to walk away but swings back when she notices Myka isn’t following. She places a hand on Myka’s shoulder, but Myka flinches and immediately pulls away at her touch.

Feeling suddenly overcome with remorse, Myka stares at the scene, taking an extra moment say her goodbyes. She then spins around and staggers through the labyrinth of the emergency vehicles, her speed increasing as she hits her stride.

Helena sprints to intercept.

Myka moves forward on autopilot, and they travel the short distance in silence. Helena steps in front of her upon reaching the hotel, and, lost in thought, Myka clumsily crashes into her form. Helena places her hands on Myka’s shoulders and gently pushes her back.

“Are you sorted for a place to stay after tonight?” she asks, her voice pointed, business-like. She looks Myka directly in the eye.

Myka steps back, shaken by Helena’s brusque tone.

“I-I have a few couches to crash on, but nothing permanent,” Myka replies. 

Helena releases Myka and lowers her arms to her sides.

Myka looks down at her feet. "I moved here four months ago after grad school. I don’t know many people in the city.”

She tilts her head and scuffs a toe, thinking she should explain further as she must sound pitiful.

”I-I paint. Paintings. And between my job and my art I honestly haven’t had time to socialize.”

Since moving to New York, finding her way professionally has been her priority; making personal connections has not.

Looking up at Helena, she notes the worry written on her face and decides her standoffishness is unwarranted.

“I still have a few things to work out. I’m not sure I have enough cash for a security deposit and first months rent, and I have these huge student loans,” she explains. 

She looks away, immediately feeling self-conscious, and runs a hand shakily through her hair, thinking she's just crossed a line and disclosed too much information for a stranger's ears to handle. 

Helena steps forward and reaches for Myka’s wrist. She squeezes it gently and rubs her thumb in circles over Myka’s forearm.

Myka looks down at the connection then back up at Helena and decides she finds comfort in the action.

“If you're not sorted soon, find me," Helena says while flashing a reassuring smile. "You’re more than welcome to stay with my daughter and I for as long as you need. Our place is small and noisy; perhaps a bit ‘rustic’ for your taste, but honestly, between the two of us, we’re rarely home.”

“That’s incredibly generous of you, but, I-I couldn’t, really," Myka spits out, thinking this woman’s generosity knows no bounds. "You’ve done so much for me already; I wouldn’t want to impose on you like that.” 

”You wouldn’t be, I promise. And I’d like to help. Just know my offer stands as long as you might need it,” Helena states. Her eyes flick up to a clock on a nearby building.

"I must dash. Call me anytime.”

Tightening her grip on Myka’s wrist, she gives it a gentle tug and Myka falls forward into a supportive hug. Upon release, Helena holds her at arms length, her hands gripping Myka’s shoulders firmly, waiting patiently for Myka’s eyes to meet her own.

“Anytime, if only just to talk. ”

Helena holds Myka’s gaze until Myka nods in understanding. She then lowers her arms and walks briskly into the hotel.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Myka finds the trials and tribulations of sorting out her living situation quite trying at times. But she does have friends who are helpful along the way, even if the results are unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epic re-edit posted: 07/30/16  
> NOTE: The original chapter 4 has been split in two for readability

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> _There is no logic that can be superimposed on the city; people make it, and it is to them, not buildings, that we must fit our plans._  
>  \- Jane Jacobs

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Myka floats for days, adrift on friend’s couches while searching for a new place to live. Worried she'll become a burden, she keeps her stays short as her friend’s apartments are cramped affairs, mostly shares with roommates, even the couple she knows. Navigating packed subways daily is new to her, as is perpetually eating meals out; every day feels like an unwelcome adventure. She’d like to say she’s taking it all in stride, but truthfully, she’s not; she desperately misses the comfort of her old routine. Feeling constantly on the move, she finds work her only tether and reluctantly accepts the fact her world has truly changed forever.

Two weeks have passed since she and Helena visited the scene of the fire and she’s kept a close eye on the site ever since. In hindsight, she's glad Helena brought her there earlier as every modification leaves less and less evidence her building ever existed. 

The debris was cleared over the course of a few days and the basements filled in with dirt; the area is now completely leveled off. Bare plywood panels were hastily thrown up, forming a barrier between sidewalk and lot but are soon tidied and painted dark green. Small square windows have been cut into the plywood, allowing the outside to see in, while makeshift memorials have popped up, dedicated to the two people who lost their lives in the catastrophe.

All the while, Helena’s kept in touch, periodically texting to ask how Myka’s doing. About a week after their last meeting, Myka suggested getting coffee during lunch, thinking she’d like to spend time with Helena now that she’s out of crisis mode. Helena graciously accepted, and they set up a time and place to meet between their work locales.

Myka arrived early to settle in, having felt nervous to be seeing Helena again. Her anxiety grew the longer she waited and when Helena finally arrived, the encounter proved awkward; the tone set early on by an outpouring of apologies due to Helena’s lateness. Helena’s speech was frazzled and her appearance, disheveled, but her eyes calmed when their gazes met.

Once Helena was seated, a stream of exploratory questions poured out of her mouth, asking Myka how she was getting on, how her job was going, and if she had any leads on a new place. Myka answered efficiently, matching Helena’s cadence, but felt as if she were participating in a test.

Seemingly satisfied with Myka’s answers, Helena again offered Myka a place to stay but was not insistent; Myka felt the sentiment came from a place of pure selflessness. Myka thanked Helena sincerely and said she’d keep it in mind.

Helena then rose and offered apologies for the terse visit. Myka attempted to rise also, but Helena placed a hand on her shoulder, gently holding her down and encouraged her to stay and enjoy the nice weather. She flashed a polite grin and said, “It was lovely to see you. Until next time, take care,” then disappeared down the street. Myka found the whole meeting, which lasted all of ten minutes, somewhat disconcerting.

Truthfully, she _has_ been searching, relentlessly, for a new living situation, trolling websites for leads daily, sending cordial emails to brokers, viewing spaces in all boroughs, courting a cavalcade of potential roommates. She finds the process both labor intensive and exhausting and feels terrible having to occasionally step out of work, but is hopeful she'll find a solution soon.

Today, her spirits are lifted after a bit of luck comes her way; a living space has presented itself that's too good to pass up. She views the room after work, but before agreeing to anything outright decides to consult her close friend and native New Yorker, Abigail Cho.

While walking from the subway to her lodgings for the night, she steps into a small park, thinking she'll have more privacy there than in the cramped living room of her hosts. The park is empty, save for a few teenagers playing basketball, and she locates a vacant bench easily. She dials Abigail’s number and as it rings through, wraps her coat around herself tightly, attempting to shield herself from the crisp April air.

After several rings, Abigail picks up.

“Myka! So nice to hear from you!” Abigail greets.

“Hey, Abs. How’s the post-doc?”

“The usual. Cognitive sciencey research mode, twenty-four-seven.” 

“Don't you ever get a break?"

“I’ve given up. It's not worth it," Abigail grunts. "This town is _way_ too small. Have I mentioned Providence totally sucks without you?"

“Only ever time we talk.”

“God, I miss the city. And real food. This student grade stuff I'm stuck stuffing my face with might as well be cardboard for all I can tell."

Myka chuckles lightly.

"Can’t wait to visit you when you’re settled. How’re you holding up?”

“I’m…” Myka starts but hangs, attempting to temper the waver already present in her voice.

“Ok, I think. Truthfully, I'm pretty lost,” she candidly admits and looks down at her lap.

“I’ve moved so many times in the last ten years...I’ve tried to equate this with that, but living out of a suitcase feels more like vacation than real life. A working vacation, I guess, because when I leave the office, there's nowhere to go that's my own.”

“‘Vacation's' a bit of a misnomer, don’t you think?" Abigail questions. “What you’re going through isn’t anything like moving to a new city; it’s a shock to your system; your life suspended; rudely placed on hold."

“I guess,” Myka mumbles under her breath.

“Your stuff was so particularly _you_ , Myka, such a large part of your identity. You're not going to bounce back this right away. Cut yourself some slack.”

The line quiets as Myka considers this.

“Any leads on new places?” Abigail asks, clearly switching gears.

“Yeah, just today,” Myka answers, suddenly remembering why she called. “I’m hoping to get your advice. This guy at work has a friend who lives in a loft in Bushwick, and a room is opening up. I visited it tonight; it’s kind of a hike but it's big, and it's a live/work space. Plus the building’s full of artists.”

“Sounds perfect. And really great for your self-esteem. What's the catch?”

“It’s not available until the end of the month,“ Myka explains.

“Ah. So you're looking for more places to—”

“Do you remember that woman I told you about, the one from the hotel?” Myka blurts out before Abigail can finish. "I think I might stay with her for a few days.”

“The one with the kid?” Abigail asks, sounding surprised.

"Yeah.”

“But, kids, right? Have you met it?”

“No,” Myka confesses, feeling a pang of guilt over all of those times she and Abigail joked about how annoying kids are.

"What about that friend of Mike’s. James something? Didn’t he move to New York?”

“That guy? No way. He’s such a creep. He used to hit on me all the time.”

“I remember...” Abigail slowly recalls. "I gave him the brush off early on, so I totally forgot. You’re always way too nice about giving dudes the boot."

“I try to be polite."

“Sometimes you shouldn't."

“I guess."

“So this woman’s not a creep?”

“No,” Myka answers immediately. “Not at all. She’s kind of sweet. Intense but sweet.“

"Only you would think to put those words together as a positive thing,” Abigail mocks. “No bad vibes? I beg you to think _hard_ about that, because honestly, you’re not the best judge of character.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have this amazing capacity for detail when it comes to things, but people? Let’s just say it takes a while for you to see them for who they really are.”

Feeling confused by the proclamation, Myka recalls past interactions with strangers in Abigail's presence and decides she has no basis for argument.

“I can see that,” she hesitantly admits, recognizing this is probably the reason she doesn’t go out of her way to be social.

“So, this woman?"

Myka's considers Helena again, _hard_ , as instructed.

“No bad vibes.”

“And she lives in Manhattan?”

“Yeah. Pretty close to work.“

“What else do you know about her, other than she's English and has a kid?” Abigail asks critically.

“She works a lot? And she lost her parents and brother when she was young, in a fire,” Myka recalls. "Come to think of it; we’ve talked more about me than her when we’ve met.”

“Is there a husband? Boyfriend? The kid came from somewhere.“

“I don’t think so,” Myka explains, though she’s unsure what her assumption is based on.

“And, you trust her?” Abigail pushes.

“I do, but don't ask me why. I can feel it, in my gut,” Myka answers earnestly. She surprises herself by saying this out loud, but once she does, she knows it’s true.

"Then go for it. But call me the moment it gets weird and I’ll set you up with my cousins in Flushing.”

“Flushing? Isn’t that miles away?” Myka half-jokes. “Don't you have cousins in Chinatown?”

“I've told you, _everyone_ lives in Flushing these days,” Abigail explains. "But I do have a ninety-year-old aunt that lives in public housing downtown if that’s more appealing.”

"That’s ok, I’m good with Flushing or anywhere, really," Myka says with slight amusement. "Thanks, Abs. You’re the best!”

“I know. Take care, and keep me posted.”

Myka ends the call, then decides to contact to Helena immediately, before she loses her nerve. She texts rather than calls as it’s late and asks if there’s a time tomorrow they can talk.

Helena instantly replies.

_-Coffee lunchtime? Same place?_

Myka smiles, feeling pleased by Helena's prompt response.

_-Great! I’ll confirm in the morning. See you then!_

_-Looking forward to it_

Myka's heart does a little jump as the words pop up on her screen. She immediately types “me too,” but quickly erases it, thinking it sounds more flirty than friendly. To fight the urge to text back, she drops her phone in her purse, then rises and makes her way back to her lodgings for the night.

\---------------

As promised, Myka texts Helena in the morning, suggesting they meet around noon. Helena readily agrees.

Helena's already present when Myka arrives at the cafe, sitting at a table outside. Myka waves to her and points to the door, mouthing she’ll be back with coffee in a minute.

As she waits in line, she checks herself over, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in her angular light wool jacket and her simple gray cotton dress. She tidies her neat bun with a few gentle pats then tugs on a silver earring before fingering a necklace elegantly framing her neck; both recent gifts from her metalsmith friend in response to her loss.

The queue moves quickly, and after she orders, she’s swiftly out the door.

As she approaches the table, she feels Helena’s gaze upon her and fumbles nervously while setting down her purse as she takes a seat.

“You look positively _luminous_ today, Myka,” Helena announces reverently. She flashes a broad, friendly smile while looking Myka directly in the eye.

Myka's face warm at the compliment, and but she holds Helena's gaze. Helena’s bluster is back, she thinks but decides her hectic morning has left her primed to play along with her charms today. Her lips curl up unassumingly, and she settles further into her chair, crossing her long slender legs as gracefully as she can.

Helena’s eyes lower, following the motion with interest.

“Perhaps we’ll meet one day when I’m dressed less sensibly, though I’d hardly compare to the vision that is you,” Helena proclaims. She lists to the side and unabashedly scans the entirety of Myka, then slowly straightens, leaning back in her chair. 

Her eyes lift to meet Myka's and her lips rise, forming the most disarmingly wolfish grin. 

Myka counters with a crooked smirk and a glint of conceit in her eye.

“My mother always told me I should dress for just in case,” she replies presumptuously. She sips of her latte and bats her lashes over the rim.

Helena arches a brow as if accepting a challenge.

Myka huffs a breath in amusement and sets down her coffee.

“Seriously, I had an important work thing today. I’m filling in for the head registrar when she goes on maternity leave, and I met with some clients to get up to speed. "

“A promotion?" Helena presumes.

“Kind of. It’s temporary."

“Nevertheless, well done,” Helena praises. “I'd image said clients were putty in your hands, considering your present appearance.” She flashes an unapologetically flirtatious grin.

Myka blinks rapidly then looks down, studying her coffee closely, hoping to hide her flushed cheeks and bashful smile. She lifts her cup and takes a small sip, angling her eyes up to view Helena shyly through long lashes, thinking maybe she's not ready to play this game, after all. 

Helena's gaze meets Myka's and her grin settles into something less suggestive.

“You wanted to talk?” she asks soberly.

Myka lowers her cup and fidgets nervously with the cardboard sleeve.

"I—” she starts, but stops abruptly as a sudden gust of wind causes her to shiver.

“Are you cold? Perhaps it’s not warm enough to be seated outside. We should go in,” Helena relays with concern. She begins to rise.

"I’m fine. Please, stay. It was just a chill,” Myka explains. She reaches out to stop Helena but doesn’t touch her, then slowly retracts her hand.

Helena lowers back into her chair while Myka critically inspects her state of dress.

“You must be cold in that thin button down; you have like zero percent body fat,” Myka pronounces.

Helena looks down at her shirt, then up at Myka, and flashes a confident smirk.

“I actually welcome a bit of weather as I’m often trapped day and night in that infernal hotel,” Helena explains. “And while it might not be apparent, I _am_ wearing layers.“ 

Myka narrows her eyes and searches Helena’s shirt, attempting to locate the layers Helena assures her are present.

Helena clears her throat, and Myka snaps to attention.

"You were about to say something earlier before we were so rudely interrupted by the wind.”

“Oh, right,” Myka mumbles. She sinks down in her chair and avoids eye contact by studying her cup, then resumes fussing with its cardboard sleeve.

“I found a room for rent in Brooklyn that’d be perfect if I can make it work.“

"That’s brilliant!” Helena commends.

“The thing is, it's not available until the first of the month,” Myka discloses. She tears a small portion of the cardboard sleeve then tucks it underneath.

“I see,” Helena replies curiously.

“If I take it, I'll need to find a few more couches to crash on,” Myka admits and looks up at Helena, eyes full of asking.

Helena abruptly jerks back and slaps her palms on the table.

“Say no more. My couch is your couch. You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you need. Just give me a days notice to tidy up for guests— ”

“Don’t go out of your way for me,“ Myka pleads.

“Oh! And I do hope you’re not allergic to cats,” Helena continues, ignoring Myka’s comment completely. "While far from my favorite creatures, Christina just adores them. Enter one rather inept tuxedo cat named Duane, Dewy for short.“

"I love cats,” Myka admits sweetly.

Helena grunts dismissively at the sentiment.

“Good, then it’s settled. All that’s left is to arrange a date and time and everything else shall fall neatly into place.”

Myka lets a slow, warm smile take over her face, thinking this is the first time in weeks she's felt hopeful for her future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line with "dress for just in case" is from a Nadine Shah song "The Gin One"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka arrives at Helena's apartment and is surprised at what she finds there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter is not new...I decided to split up chapter 4 during my massive re-edit for flow. Sorry for anyone who's still subscribed but hey, now you know this work is being cleaned up and given a new life! I know it's unusual for this to happen, but I'm dedicated knocking this work into a better shape, especially as part three (if/then) continues to grow. Thanks for understanding!
> 
> Epic re-edit posted: 07/30/16  
> Part 2 of the original chapter 4

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> _“We thought of [New York] as a free city, like one of those storied prewar tropical nests of intrigue and licentiousness where exiles and lamsters and refugees found shelter in a tangle of improbable juxtapositions.”_  
>  ― Luc Sante 

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Arrangements are made, and a few days later, Myka makes her first journey to Helena’s apartment after work. As she exits the gallery, she pauses for a moment and looks up and down the street, squinting in the golden hour light as she assesses her travel options. A gust of chilly spring air pushes her into action, and she walks south instead of north, then immediately east on a side street. She passes a thin strip of park between two larger streets, then enters a neighborhood she’s visited before but is less familiar with than her own. Its buildings are low rise and mostly residential, while its street life boasts handfuls of small art galleries, popular eateries, and designer shops.

The streets quiet the further she walks, and she begins to feel slightly lost. For confirmation of direction she consults her phone and continues a few blocks further, she then turns south, passing a smattering of trendy restaurants, Latino bodegas, and Chinese groceries along the way. The block terminates at a bridge off-ramp, where she knows from her map to turn left.

She scans the block as she walks, taking in its composition while searching for Helena’s building. Noting while it's less frenetic than the previous street, it's rather desolate overall. To the south, an imposing, slanting concrete wall fills her view, part of a massive bridge that crosses the East River to Brooklyn. To the north, an assortment of mismatched and dingy six-story tenements rise high, though a two-story popular music venue lies a few paces in. 

She walks to the end of the block then turns back, realizing the addresses are getting smaller rather than larger. When she locates Helena's door she sees why he missed it; its stuck on-aluminum numbers are barely legible, all semi-covered in graffiti.

Feeling more than a little nervous about what she’s walking into, she takes a step back and surveys the building before attempting to enter. At first glance it’s eerily similar to the one she used to live in though definitely more weathered; its red brick facade crumbles from every pore and its painted red accents peel from both lintel and fire escape. She’s comforted by the fact the ornate roof is cornice still intact but notes many of the windows are cloudy and paned; they look ancient compared to what she's used to seeing. 

She tries to recall other unrenovated spaces she's been in but finds herself at a loss, then thinks she knows from experience outside appearances don't always correspond with what's within. Helena did say her apartment was "rustic", but Helena herself seems so refined; she honestly can't imagine her apartment would reflect the outward state of this building. And anyway, she decides, it's too late to turn back now.

She drags her rolling luggage up a few small steps toward the entrance and searches the call box for Helena’s apartment number. The device is covered in tattered stickers and scribbled tags, but Helena’s number is present, written in what looks like fresh sharpie next to a raised button. She gives the button a push but hears no noise then decides to wait a few moments for a response.

A crackly sound emerges from the speaker, then a faint buzzing wafts from the door. She pushes on the handle, but the door refuses to open, so she presses the button again. The buzzing soon repeats, but the door, once again, won’t budge. Feeling frustrated, she fumbles through her purse for her phone but stops short as she hears her name being called from a distance.

She steps back onto the sidewalk and looks around, but sees no one she knows nearby. Her name sounds again and this time, she looks up, spying Helena hanging half way out of an open window.

“I'm guessing the buzzer's broken. I’m throwing down keys.”

Myka’s eyes follow an object falling towards her, noticing as it gets closer it’s yellow and round, much like a tennis ball. She tries to catch it but misses and it bounces, then begins rolling away. Scurrying behind it, she stops it with her foot, then swipes it off the ground and brings it up to her eyes, examining it closely. It _is_ a tennis ball, she discovers, and when shaken she hears something jangly rattling around inside. She gives it a squeeze and a slit opens; revealing a set of keys nestled within.

She fishes the keys out with a finger and holds them up towards Helena, smiling as if she's just found a hidden prize.

“They might be fussy, but give them a try. If they won't work, I’ll come fetch you.“

Myka steps back to the entrance and opens the first then second doors with little trouble. She drags her luggage up several sets of winding and worn marble stairs to the correct floor, then walks down a short hallway. She swiftly locates Helena’s door and knocks lightly on its splotchy painted brown surface, noting its number is the same type of aluminum as the one downstairs.

Helena promptly answers, wearing a hostess smile, dressed in her usual work attire: white shirt, black trousers.

“Welcome!" she says brightly then eyes Myka's luggage. "Let me take your bag.”

As Helena places her hand on the handle of Myka’s suitcase, a small head pokes out from beside her.

Myka looks down and sees a curly haired girl with wide, dark eyes staring up at her with interest.

“Hello,“ says the girl forthrightly.

“Hello, back,” Myka greets. She tilts her head and with a grin, squats down to the girl’s level. "You must be Christina. I’m Myka.” She extends a hand.

"You’re really tall,” Christina observes, shaking Myka’s hand without reservations.

"I guess I am,” Myka answers with amusement. She looks up at Helena and flashes a lopsided smirk.

"Pleasantries first before grand statements,” Helena says to Christina. "Please say, ‘It’s very nice to meet you, Myka.'”

Christina crinkles her nose at Helena but dutifully complies. “It’s very nice to meet you, Myka. You’re really tall,” she says, then smiles smugly.

Helena sighs in exasperation and eyes Myka apologetically. “May I present my daughter, the expositor."

Just then, a cat pokes his head out from between Helena and Christina's legs and attempts to wiggle through. Christina wraps both arms around him and lifts him to her chest, holding on tight.

“This is Dewy,” she says to Myka. She chuckles and ducks back into the apartment.

Helena follows Christina’s retreat, then turns to back to Myka, eyes full of mirth.

“And on that note, introductions are complete,” she says. She turns to the side and extends a hand into the apartment. “Please, do come in.”

“Thank you,” Myka says with cordially, then crosses the threshold.

Helena closes the door behind her and rolls Myka’s bag across the floor then parks it to the side near the couch. She momentarily busies herself tidying a cushion then turns to face Myka.

Myka stands just inside the door, taking in her surroundings, her cheerful visage falling as she realizes "rustic” was an accurate description of the apartment after all.

“So, um...how long have you lived here?“ she says, trying to sound casual but the words come out uncomfortably strained.

"Just under three under years. We’re quite close to a good school for Christina,” Helena explains, her brows lowering as she notes Myka’s apprehension.

Myka nods her head slowly up and down while continuing to survey the room. Her gaze stops on a particular item near the kitchen, one which gives her pause.

“I’ve never been in an apartment with the, um, bathtub in the kitchen, except at the Tenement Museum.”

Helena’s looks toward the tub.

“Just one of the many charms of rent stabilization. Cheap, but shoddy, and, in this case, the very bottom of the scale regarding the genre,” she explains. "I believe ‘unrenovated charm’ or ‘original detailing intact’ would be the 'broker speak' used when advertising.”

Helena huffs a sarcastic snicker, but Myka’s attention stays fixed on the tub.

“This unit is rather an anachronism; there aren’t many in circulation anymore,” Helena clarifies. "Perhaps I should have warned you more thoroughly, as someone like yourself would not be privy to a place such as this."

Myka whirls around to face Helena, feeling instantly slighted by the remark. She _hates_ when people assume she’s from a well-to-do family because she works at a high-end art gallery; truthfully, she most definitely is _not._ "What do you mean, someone like myself” nearly escapes her lips but she holds her tongue and instead glares accusingly at Helena.

Helena crosses her arms over her chest and grimaces defensively looking as if she knows she hit a nerve.

“We acquired this apartment through local channels; Christina’s best friend’s father, Liam, grew up in the neighborhood, as did his father before. When he heard we were struggling, he put us in touch, and he connected us with this space, though it came with certain restrictions," she elaborates.

Myka’s glare softens as she takes Helena’s words to heart, suddenly realizing she's the one jumping to conclusions. Helena probably meant, “someone new to the city,” not “someone from better means,” and if she’s honest with herself, she’s been judging Helena on similar reasonings, assuming she’s well off based on the flimsy combination of posh accent and handsome looks.

Feeling ashamed by her preconceptions, she looks around the room and reconsiders its contents, consciously adjusting her perception of her surroundings.

“What restrictions?” Myka eventually asks, her tone softer, more caring.

Noting Myka’s mood shift, Helena sighs in resignation, as if all too familiar with the fact she’s just been judged.

“We could be asked to leave at a moments notice, as we’re not the legal tenants," Helena explains plainly. "When pressed, I must assume the moniker of Mrs. Paddy O’Rourke, the leaseholder of the flat.” 

“I’m sorry,” Myka replies and frowns, feeling horrified by the instability Helena has to face while caring for a child.

“But no matter. We’re secure for now,” Helena quips lightly then abruptly marches over and takes Myka’s hand.

“Let's have a tour of the palace, shall we?” she offers, swiftly changing topics. She pulls Myka into the living room then pauses in front of the coffee table.

“May I present to you the infamous couch,” she announces and sweeps her hand in a grand motion. “We'll move the push bike and coffee table then pull it out. Believe it or not, it’s quite comfortable.”

Myka eyes the couch warily, feeling doubtful of its comfort factor and notes it tilts at an angle, conforming to the worn, sloping wooden floor. To its right, a bookcase leans into the corner, listing to the side for support, populated by books, nick-nacks, records, and photographs in frames. A beat up three-speed is parked next to it, its basket full of newspapers and books.

“Over here we have the lounge,” Helena continues and points to a shabby but plush armchair resting under a deep set multi-pained window that faces the street.

Myka eyes the chair then studies a weathered, wooden milk crate stationed to its left, and decides its function must be a side table sorts, as a mug sits perched on top. In an adjacent corner, a distressed wooden desk blocks the path to a heavily gated fire escape window, and a tattered, wheeled office chair sits stationed underneath.

Helena swings Myka around to face the opposite direction and guides her forward, past the couch and coffee table towards the entrance door.

“And here we have the kitchen, minimal yet serviceable,” she quips. She continues into the room then turns to face Myka and leans back on the sink, crossing her arms.

Myka studies the room but decides it's more of an “area," the delineation being the battered edge between the wooden and linoleum floors. The sink Helena leans on is clean and white and made of enameled metal, as is the adjoining countertop. A small, weary metal stove sits to the right and from their design Myka guesses the pair dates from the 60’s or 70’s, but then thinks that's far too old.

A modest fridge, the newest item in the lot, lives next to the stove, its door covered with drawings, photos, and schedules. Built in shelves hang above the appliances, clearly leftovers from a time long past, coated in layers of drippy but dried off-white paint, filled with pots, pans, dishes, cereals, Tupperware, and canned foods.

“And if you look further to the left we have the bath,” Helena directs, adopting a stately tone of voice. She waves a hand regally to the left and Myka's eyes follow.

An aged cast iron tub stands stalwartly next to the kitchen sink, its clawed feet digging into the bare wooden subfloor underneath. An opaque shower curtain hangs from an oval rod above, and Myka thinks it must be new, as the lines of folded seams are still visible. She feels a pang of guilt while noticing this detail, deciding Helena must have purchased it recently, solely for her benefit.

“Not the height of luxury, but functional, nonetheless. Rest assured we’ll coordinate so no ones ogling you whilst showing.”

Myka smiles politely in acknowledgment of the sentiment.

Helena pushes off the sink and herds Myka further into the apartment through a doorless doorway framed with thick molding.

“Here we have the master bedroom. As you can see it’s quite spacious,” she announces.

Myka sizes up the room, determining it's barely large enough to house the queen sized bed, dresser and rolling hanging rack present.

Helena walks to the back of the room and pushes open a door.

“Through here you’ll find Christina,” she continues.

Myka peeks in and finds Christina sitting on the bed reading a book propped up on Dewy, who lies dozily underneath. She steps in and looks around, noting it's the coziest room in the flat, finding the walls painted a cheerful light blue, lined from floor to ceiling with drawings, posters, and pictures. The twin bed is home to a handful of stuffed animals, while a set of bookshelves stands filled with well-used children’s books and a CD/cassette boombox sits on top. The room feels oddly triangular due to one wall slanting inward; its solitary window facing both an airshaft and the roof of the building next door.

"Do you like my room?” Christina asks, eagerly awaiting Myka's response.

Myka smiles, genuinely, feeling an instant warmth toward this little girl.

“I like it very much. You’ll have to tell me about your decorations someday,” she says as she points to a drawing on the wall.

Christina abandons her book and grabs a fuzzy horse from the pile of stuffed animals. She then leaps up and stands, extending it towards Myka. 

“This is Junior!”

Dewy shoots off of the bed and out of the room.

“Christina,“ Helena says sternly, but with affection, “Let’s leave introductions for another day. I believe Myka has enough information to process for the moment.”

“OK, Mom,” Christina says dejectedly. She holds the horse against her chest and flops aggressively back onto the bed.

“Shall we continue?“ Helena suggests while flashing Myka an apologetic smile.

“There’s more?” Myka says with disbelief. She spies another door at the far side of Christina’s room and thinks this place must go on forever, like a cave.

Helena crosses the room and pushes open the door. 

Myka's eyes widen at the reveal; a room just big enough for a toilet and nothing else.

“Rather essential, I believe, though not ideally placed,” Helena admonishes.

“Um, yeah,” Myka mumbles. Her hand lifts to cover her mouth as she stares at the room, feeling unsure of how to respond to such a thing. Her earlier uncomfortableness swiftly returns, and she instantly decides to call Abigail tomorrow to ask about staying with her cousins.

"Luckily Christina and I both sleep like logs, so no worries disturbing us in the middle of the night,” Helena offers informationally, in an obvious attempt to quell Myka’s startled expression.

"Are you sure?” Myka asks earnestly, thinking the entire situation seems like a total inconvenience to everyone.

“Positive. We have had guests before," Helena offers soundly. "It’s not a problem; I assure you. Am I correct, Christina?“ 

“Correct!” Christina chirps, nodding her head playfully while mimicking her mother, her sour mood seeming to have passed.

Myka’s eyes dart between the two of them, each waiting expectantly for her approval. She decides to go along, thinking it’s best to believe them, for now.

“Ok,” she answers nervously, her posture slumping as she flashes an apprehensive smile.

“Excellent,” Helena proclaims. Her lips curl up at the ends, indicating she's pleased with the news. “Let’s get you settled in.”

She places a hand between Myka’s shoulder blades and leads her back through the apartment. As they reach the living room, Helena takes a seat on the couch and invites Myka to join her.

“Keep the keys I threw down to you,” she instructs. “You're welcome to come and go as you please, but please be certain to lock both locks on the front door. We have precious little to steal, but I'd like to retain what we have." 

Helena looks towards the door, and Myka's eyes follow, noting both a deadbolt and a regular doorknob lock in place.

“We should talk schedules. I imagine yours is more predictable than mine.”

Myka’s attention wanders towards the tub as Helena speaks, feeling in disbelief that she's decided to stay here for the night. A few moments later, realizing Helena's waiting for a response, she turns to address her, consciously trying to hide her discomfort, but her expression comes off as a little too taut.

“I’m pretty much ten to six, Tuesday through Saturday, unless we have an opening or special event. Then I might stay late or work on a Sunday,” she explains factually. 

“I drop Christina off at school early most mornings, then travel straight to work, except on the days when I work the late shift,” Helena relays, her tone turning more official. "Those nights Christina stays with her Aunt Claudia or at her friend Erica’s. I arrive home in the wee hours of the morning, but I do promise to be as quiet as a mouse.”

The word mouse causes Myka to stiffen, thinking it’s very likely there are actual mice here, scurrying about while everyone is asleep. She then remembers Dewy and relaxes, deciding if there are mice here, he must keep them at bay.

"We spend most evenings at Aunt Claudia’s, as Christina often needs use of a computer for her homework,” Helena explains. "And Christina's quite fond of Aunt Claudia's _enormous_ television.” 

Helena over-emphasizes the word “enormous" and spreads her arms wide, indicating just how large the television is. Myka chuckles at Helena's gesture, thinking it’s sweet she's trying to lighten the mood.

"She lives quite nearby in a tall, oddly shaped building with windows made of blue glass. I’m sure you’ve noticed it before.”

“You can’t miss it,” Myka quips, remembering the structure from when she visited galleries in the neighborhood before. It’s curious, she thinks, that this Aunt Claudia lives in a luxury tower while Helena and Christina struggle in this hovel less than a stones throw away. Deciding she’d like to know more, she presses for details.

"So, you have family in the city?“

Helena shakes her head no. "Christina’s not related to Claudia by blood; she's a friend from college who’s taken us under her wing so to speak. We’re immensely lucky to have her, as without her I’m afraid we’d be completely lost,” she explains wistfully.

"She sounds like a good friend,” Myka says earnestly. A peace of mind washes over her at the thought of Helena and Christina having such a charitable person in their lives, and she looks down at the floor, eyes unfocused, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the experience of this evening.

Noticing Myka's tuning out, Helena changes the subject. “But enough about us. You must be exhausted. Let's transform this couch into the height of luxurious bedding.”

“Can I help?” Christina asks, bounding into the room unannounced. She stops in front of Helena and bounces up and down.

“Of course, dear,” Helena answers brightly, flashing a tender smile. "Why don’t you fetch some sheets for Myka from my dresser?”

“On it!” Christina yelps and runs off, eager be useful.

They’re so cute, Myka thinks, as she watches this simple exchange between mother and daughter. Her heart warms at the sight and her reservations about the living arrangements begin to fall by the wayside.

Christina swiftly returns with the sheets and Helena activates, moving the bike and the coffee table to the side. The pair descends upon the couch, uncovering its inner workings by hurling cushions across the room, then everyone works together, wrestling with the mechanics to pry it open. Once it's extended fully, Helena and Christina proceed to make the mattress.

Christina flops on top once the task is complete and Helena disappears into her room, reappearing shortly with a pillow, towel, and blanket in hand. She lays the lot on a nearby chair, then takes a moment to assess their work.

“Madam, your room is ready,” Helena says lightheartedly to Myka and nods once, deeply.

“Thank you,” Myka answers warmly.

“And, I believe it’s someone's bedtime,” Helena says to Christina.

“But Mom, Myka just got here,” Christina says with a whine and a pout.

“We’ll socialize another time. I’m sure Myka’s tired, love,” Helena explains and glances apologetically at Myka.

Myka gives a small smile in agreement.

Helena turns back to Christina. “Brush your teeth first, then put your pajamas on,” she instructs.

Christina sulks for a moment then slips off the bed and days. toward the kitchen sink. She slides a colorfully decorated step stool from it's hiding place behind the tub to a spot in front of the sink, then climbs on top. Reaching behind the taps, she removes her toothbrush from a glass and squeezes a glob of toothpaste onto its bristles.

“Remember, brush for a whole minute,” Helena chirps.

Myka watches Christina brush for what feels like longer than a minute then takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Helena follows.

“She seems like a really good kid,” Myka suggests.

"She is,” Helena readily admits. "But we all have our moments.”

Just then, Christina skips over, smiling a toothy grin. “Done!” she announces and jumps directly onto Helena’s lap.

“Ooof!” Helena grunts as they tumble backward onto the bed. Christina emits a high-pitched giggle and Helena grins adoringly. Christina snuggles into the crook of Helena’s neck and Helena strokes her fingers through her curls lovingly.

“I wanna sleep out here,” Christina says in a quiet, tired voice.

"I think our guest might like the bed to herself for at least one night,” Helena explains and eyes Myka sheepishly, then places a kiss on the top of Christina’s head.

Myka flashes a reassuring smile, feeling taken aback by this open, unguarded Helena, so completely transformed from her usual deflective self. Her heart melts just a little as she acknowledges the love visibly passing between mother and daughter.

Helena sits up, and Christina slides down her body until her feet touch the floor. She hugs Helena tightly as Helena stands, and Helena looks toward Myka.

"Please do make yourself at home. I’ll be back after tucking Christina in, though I’ll most likely turn in soon as well. Do not hesitate to ask should there be anything you need.”

“Thanks,” Myka replies. She suddenly feels sleepy, too, though it’s only nine o'clock.

Helena leads Christina to her room.

As the door closes, Myka flops back on the bed and squeezes her eyes shut. This is weird, she thinks, and not what she expected _at all_ , but honestly, everywhere she's stayed had its quirks. Maybe not _this_ many quirks, but until she sorts something else out, she decides can handle it for few days .

Satisfied with her rationalization, she sits up and shimmies to the edge of the mattress. She zips open her suitcase and begins to get ready for bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka’s experiences and thoughts during her first few nights at Helena’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super Myka-centric but plot-wise there are some key elements she picks up on that are important later. Consider it a scene setter, something to allow Myka time to shift into Helena's personal space.

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> _“You can't love a city if you have no memories buried there.”_  
>  ― Marina Tavares Dias

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Helena returns twenty minutes later from tucking Christina in and asks once again if Myka needs anything. She says her goodnights then promptly retires to her room.

Myka stays up reading for an hour or so before turning off the light and snuggling in under the covers. She tries her best to drift off, but slumber is elusive.

Helena’s pull out couch actually _is_ surprisingly comfortable and rather spacious compared to the Ikea sofas she’s had to contend with over the past few weeks. It’s other issues, growing in number by the minute, that keep her up. The ambient light is far brighter than she is comfortable with, a combination of street lamps and bridge illumination. The night is cold for April and the steam heat rattles to life around midnight, pipes clattering, radiator hissing. It becomes too hot almost instantly and she begrudgingly decides to open the window a crack, finally forcing it open with a loud creaking noise. She flinches at the sound, then stops and listens intently; no one in the house seems to stir. Settling back into bed, she now realizes every brake squeal, truck rumble, engine rev from the bridge traffic is audible. Feet echo on the pavement as pedestrians walk by as do conversations of patrons out for a smoke from the bar next door, sound bouncing between buildings and concrete exit ramp. At some point there is a fight between a man and a woman, words flying around sloppily, loud enough to sound as if they are in the room.

Drifting in and out of slumber for what seems like an eternity, she finally admits to herself that she really _really_ has to pee. Not wanting to wake Christina, or Helena for that matter, she mulls over options. She _could_ get dressed and go to the bar next door though they probably have a cover fee. Maybe a different bar, she thinks, as not all bars have a cover. Or a cafe…..wait, no, they’re probably all closed…...maybe a pizza place? She tosses and turns and eventually gives up, deciding she’s being ridiculous and should just brave the facilities already present.

Sliding out from under the covers, she tiptoes past Helena, then gingerly pushes the door open to Christina’s room. Peeking in, she sees Christina fast asleep hugging her horse while Dewy lies curled in a tight ball at the end of the bed. Apprehensively eyeing the door to the toilet, she glides across the room as soundlessly as possible and slips inside.

She’s positive the entire house must be awake once the sound of the toilet flushing and filling ceases. Eyes closed, she leans her head against the wall and thinks maybe she should just stay right here for the night, as its quieter, but then again the room is so small she barely fits in it, and what if someone else needs to use it? Reluctantly opening her eyes, she straightens, pushes the door open, then exits. Christina hasn’t moved one inch, she notes, and as she passes, neither has Helena. Breathing a sigh of relief, she climbs back into bed and is asleep in an instant.

  


What seems like minutes later, her alarm buzzes. Rolling over, she picks up her phone, squints at the time, hits snooze, and dramatically rolls back to the position she started in. A few minutes later when it goes off again, she abruptly sits up and turns it off completely. Stretching, then yawning, she aggressively rubs the sleep out of her crusty eyes, dried out from the radiator heat. She moves quickly to catch a drop of hot liquid running unannounced from her nose, then looks at her hand…its blood. 

“Ooooh, crap,” she says out loud, rapidly applying pressure while leaning over to rifle through her purse, pulling out a packet of tissues. While firmly holding tissue to nostril she sits up straight, inadvertently spying a note taped to the back of the front door.

Sleepily rising, she wobbles warily for a second then crosses the room to remove the note. Finding it hard to focus, she realizes she needs her glasses and strides back toward the bed. She scoops them off of the coffee table where she left them last night, steps across the room and parks herself in the kitchen.

  


_Myka,_

_I hope you were able to rest last night. I'd apologize for the street noise, but this_ is _Manhattan._

_I work late tonight and Saturday so Christina will be staying at her Aunt Claudia’s. Therefore, our paths will perhaps not cross until Sunday. You have the place to yourself, do with it what you wish._

_You are welcome to anything in the fridge or otherwise though I'm afraid there presently isn't much to be had._

_ Do not __hesitate to get in touch if you need anything at all,_

_\- H_

  


She removes her glasses, setting them and the note on the sink counter, then rubs an eye while yawning heartily. "The place to myself, huh…..,” the thought sends a thrill up her spine as she surveys the room with a new sense of ownership. She's not had a single night all to herself since the hotel, and that totally doesn't count.

Removing the tissue pressed to her nose, she concludes the nosebleed has been thwarted and decides she needs coffee _immediately_. Re-assuming her glasses, she scans the kitchen shelves and grabs a red and yellow can of Cafe Bustelo, thinking she'll buy more for Helena later. She sees a kettle to boil water on the stove, but no actual coffee maker. ”Maybe Helena is a pour over kinda gal…." she muses, but doesn't find anything resembling that kind of technology lying around. Then, in pieces drying in the dish rack, she spots a heavily tarnished stovetop espresso maker. Upon inspection, the handle is slightly melted and the lid loose, but she imagines it must work since it’s obviously been recently cleaned. She's never used one before but has seen them in stores, so she looks up instructions on her phone, assembling the pieces in order, feeling confident she can make it work.

She sets the coffee maker on the stove and turns the knob, but the burner does not light. The results are the same on each spot. Deciding she’ll have to light it manually, she searches for matches and finds a box perched on the counter next to the sink. “Ok….,” she thinks, “…...this is beginning to feel a bit like camping.”

As the coffee brews, she checks the fridge for milk. There is only whole, no skim, but she figures that will do for now. She lingers, cataloging the other contents: juice boxes, a sad tomato, a few Chinese takeout containers, ketchup, a mystery item wrapped in aluminum foil, celery.

A spluttering noise emanating from the stove causes Myka to stand abruptly. Coffee is shooting everywhere through the side of the lid so she briskly turns off the heat in a panic. She grabs the handle but pulls back as it's too hot to pick up. Nabbing a nearby dish towel, she holds down the lid until the sputtering stops, then pours the coffee into a cup.

Eyeing the half-full mug curiously, she has an idea. “Ok espresso, let's make you an americano…..” She puts the kettle on to boil as she cleans up the coffee mess. Soon hot water and milk is added to the now cold coffee, and after taking a sip, she decides to heat the lukewarm mixture in the microwave. Finding no microwave present, she lets out a resigned sigh and abandons the cup on the counter, clearly not awake enough to deal with any of this right now.

Leaning against the sink, she closes her eyes while rubbing the bridge of her nose, deciding it's time to tackle the shower. Collecting the towel Helena left her on the edge of her bed, she walks over to the tub and parts the curtains. The vessel is old, but not dirty, and even though it's a freestanding clawfoot tub, it's been rather oddly and messily joined to the wall with caulk. Two sets of hot and cold knobs stick awkwardly out of the wall. She gives the top hot one turn, but it doesn't budge; the cold proves immovable as well. Staring perplexed, knowing the water _must_ come out somehow, she then determines they turn the other way, the wrong way. Once she gets the hang of it, water emerges freely and she finds the correct temperature easily. “And I thought my first apartment out of college had its quirks,” she recalls while gathering her toiletries. She disrobes and steps in.

The shower head is a little too low for her tall stature, but the pressure isn’t half bad, and the sensation of hot water hitting her skin begins to pull her out of her sleepy haze. Finding nowhere to put her soap and shampoo, she parts the curtain and sets them on the edge of the kitchen counter. "This might take little getting used to,” she thinks, "but it's not as bad as I thought." She turns off the water and grabs her towel from the edge of the tub.

Feeling a bit more alert as she steps out, she startles, realizing she is naked and the curtains facing the street are wide open. Hastily gathering her pajamas from the floor, she scurries into Helena’s room and dresses quickly. Standing stiffly, she wills herself to calm down, clutching her wet towel, eyes haphazardly darting around the room. Her gaze slows as she becomes aware of her surroundings and Helena's distinct lack of…er…. _things_. A few pairs of shoes sit under a rolling rack filled with mostly Christina’s clothes, some half-read books lie on the floor by the bed, a small table with a lamp holds random change and receipts. A lone mirror hangs on the wall, the only mirror, in fact, that she remembers seeing in the whole apartment.

“That’s odd,” she thinks, but time is ticking, so she tries hard to focus on her next task, which is drying her hair. She considers for a moment, after the lack of coffee maker and microwave, whether Helena owns a hair dryer. If not…..well her hair cannot be tamed otherwise. "She must," she thinks, "I mean, that hair....she can't just wake up looking like that, can she?” Scanning the room, she spies one lying on top of the dresser, peeking out from under a hat. She picks it up and examines it closely, it's obviously been taken apart and put back together several times, a piece glued here, some tape over there and the writing next to the switches completely worn off. Plugging it in, she hesitantly turns it on, hoping to not get electrocuted in the process. Heat does come out, and the controls all seem to work, so she feels she is good to go. Deciding she’ll have to use it by the mirror, she fetches her makeup bag, hair products, and contacts from the living room and attempts to put her visage together for the day.

The few work clothes she owns are draped across the armchair by the window, having been unpacked last night so they would be less wrinkled today. She decides she really should iron her dress, and thinks Helena must have an iron somewhere, right? Her cheeks puff and her brows angle up as she lets out a huff of air. “Here we go again," she muses to herself, “ _if_ Helena has an iron, and you were that iron, where would you be?" Her first thought is under the sink, and she heaves a sigh of relief as she locates not only an iron but also a small ironing board tucked between the sink and the tub. Setting the board up on the kitchen counter, she plugs it in and turns the dial, but it does not turn on. She tries again then moves the plug to the bottom spot, no response. “Really— REALLY! This place, seriously….” She leans over the kitchen counter, palms on the edge, and dips her head down, closing her eyes tightly, taking in a sharp, deep breath then releasing it slowly through her nose. “OK, Myka, it's ok, calm down. Just _try_ another outlet. It's an old building, built before electricity and indoor plumbing and any sense of decorum. The fact that it's 2015 obviously doesn’t mean a thing.” She tries another outlet and everything is fine.

A half an hour later she's dressed and out the door.

She stops for a latte and danish and gradually her frustrating morning falls by the wayside. Time passes quickly and work is pleasantly non-eventful. At the end of the day, she leaves with a spring in her step knowing she can walk to Helena's in fifteen minutes, not having to navigate public transportation at all. She shops along the way at a large chain health food store for ingredients to make a meal, excited to be able to cook for herself instead of settling for take out. She also buys some fresh flowers as a gift to Helena and Christina to cheer the place up.

Upon entering Helena’s apartment, her lips immediately curl into a genuine smile, heart swelling with warmth at the sight of a bouquet already present in a vase on the coffee table by her bed. Taped to the table is another note. She sets her bags and flowers on the kitchen counter, then walks over to pluck off the paper. "Helena could have just texted or called," she thinks but surmises old school handwritten notes must be more Helena’s style.

  


_Myka,_

_I hope you got on all right this morning. I’m terribly sorry to not have given you a primer concerning the (further) idiosyncrasies of the flat. I’ll list a few below as our paths may not cross again until Sunday._

_Also, I managed a bit of shopping today. Hence, there is actual food in the fridge. Eat what you like, and please have a restful evening._

_-H_

  


As she reads over the rather long and detailed list, she feels like a fool because she can’t stop smiling, fingers rising to cover her lips. “Helena really wants to make sure I’m ok, it's so sweet of her,” she thinks. She’s already encountered and overcome several items but is glad to be forewarned of others.

Dewy toddles over, brushing up against her, tail doing an elaborate dance against her calf. She reaches down absently to pet him as she reads, but he scurries away.

Attentions turning back to the kitchen, she sets the note down and walks across the room. Cutting the ends off of her flowers of with some scissors, she manages to fit them into the same vase as Helena’s, creating a satisfying larger bouquet. While unpacking her groceries, she takes note of the items Helena bought earlier, thinking she’ll replace anything she uses that is not hers. She finds everything she needs to cook easily, and begins by pulling out a knife and cutting board. Deciding to drown out the din of the bridge traffic, she opens her laptop and plays some music. As she cooks, she hums along, finding the actions of creating a simple meal for herself relaxing, normative, almost healing.

Food on plate, she realizes there is no formal table, so she sits on the edge of her bed, plate perched on the coffee table. Unable to stay still, she checks her email on her phone while eating, then flips through an art magazine she brought from work. After her last bite is chewed and swallowed, she removes her shoes and lays back on the bed, magazine in hand. She feebly attempts to finish reading an article but swiftly abandons the magazine and spreads her body out so that she’s covering the entire bed.

Eyes closed tight, she tries to relax by controlling her breathing, inhaling deeply, then exhaling slowly repeatedly. “Ok this is not working," she admits to herself after a few minutes. Her eyes fly open and she stares blankly at the cracked and peeling plaster above. She notes the heavily patched and painted molding where the wall meets the ceiling. “Original details intact….” she huffs a laugh though her nose remembering Helena's facetious quip. Thoughts turning inward, she questions, “Where the _hell_ am I?” she eyes a particularly large crack, “….and how did I get here? People told me New York was intense, even crazy at times but this…..I mean….” When she moved here four months ago there was _no way_ she could have ever imagined _any_ of this happening to her, that this is where she would be. She feels lost in a low-budget indie movie, written by drunken twenty-somethings on a napkin in a hipster bar: here she is, soon to be living in a loft in Brooklyn, getting a huge promotion at work…..yet her apartment _blew up_ , _all_ of her possessions were obliterated, and she somehow ends up living with beautiful, enigmatic stranger and her daughter in a dilapidated walk up on the Lower East Side. The scenes move slowly, and the film is shot beautifully, but by the end you are left wondering _why_ the protagonist has been put through everything that she has. Is there some sort of existential poeticism to this all that she's missing, or will she figure it out later as she's replaying the storyline in her head while brushing her teeth one morning? And it is implied within this movie, were there to be a sequel, that one day in the not too distant future she will be sitting in her new apartment with all of her new things, wishing she had that one particular brush to use, or a certain pair of shoes to wear, or a photo from way back when, and she’ll break down completely, losing any sense of composure she’d been feigning for months prior, doubting everything last thing she's come to believe in. "Maybe it’s all a test,” she thinks, “a ‘can you handle the big city’ test. An ‘are you willing to do anything to stay here’ test. Or more like a ‘get out if you can’t deal with it’ test’.” Deciding she has no idea what the right answer is and that it's too difficult to place order on the chaos of her life right now, she concludes it’s high time for a distraction.

Rolling over onto her belly, she scans the items on the bookshelves in the living room. She feels she’s not prying, per se, as this room _is_ public. Perched on varying levels are five pictures in frames, mostly of Christina at different ages. She pulls herself up and settles on the bed sitting cross-legged then removes one of the photos from a shelf.

The image is of Christina, and she looks to be about six. She’s holding a plastic pumpkin by the handle in one hand and a magic wand in the other, wearing a sparky purple homemade outfit with a crown, standing in front of the couch in this very room, which looks much the same as it does right now.

She places the photo back gently then grabs another. It shows a birthday cake with the number three written in pink icing perched on a wooden kitchen table in a room with beige shag carpet. A red-haired woman with a bob sits next to Christina helping her blow out the candles, and there are a few wrapped presents on a countertop in the background.

The next image she finds intriguing. Helena is holding Christina as an infant in a backyard, sitting on a folding lawn chair next to a table with a baby bottle and some toys on top. In the background, there is a fence and a kittie pool and she can just make out what looks to be a small tree with yellow fruit, maybe lemons, she thinks. Helena looks so young Myka barely believes she could be the child’s mother.

She chuckles quietly as she removes the next photo from the shelf. The Grand Canyon is in the distance and Helena comically acts as if she is going to jump off a cliff while Christina holds her back, grinning wildly at the person taking the picture. Myka’s first thought is the photographer must be Christina’s father, but then again he seems to not be present otherwise, so if he is not in their life at all Helena wouldn’t put out a photo that referred to him. She then remembers Helena mentioning that she knew "Aunt Claudia" from college…..perhaps that’s who the red haired woman is in the other image? Scanning between photos, she loses herself for a moment trying to piece together clues to figure out Helena and Christina’s trajectory. Concocting nothing concrete, she soon gives up and moves on to the last image.

The final photo is a faded family portrait in a delicate gold frame. It shows a woman and man who look to be in their late forties, maybe older, a boy in his early teens, and a young girl that looks a lot like Christina. “That must be Helena," she thinks and runs a finger over the image, before bringing it closer to her eyes. The girl looks exactly like her father, but with her mother’s long straight hair. They are all smiling happily on a sidewalk in front of what looks to be a boat, as a prow is visible. There are buildings in the background that seem vaguely European, but she finds no distinguishing landmarks to say where exactly it was taken. Helena holds her mother's hand and has the same hint of mischief in her eye as she does today. Myka smiles and imagines Helena must have been quite the handful. Curiosity getting the best of her, she removes the photo from the frame to see if there is anything written on the back. She finds, written in cursive, “1990, 'The Utopia', Utrecht.” “Its _is_ a boat," she thinks, then wonders if it could be _the_ boat. She carefully places the photo back in the frame then sets it on the shelf where she found it.

Her attention then turns to the objects behind the photos. There are a few dog-eared but incredibly random books: a few structural engineering textbooks with ‘used’ stickers on the spines, a several cookbooks, some classic and contemporary science fiction, plus many children’s books Christina has probably outgrown. The bottom shelf contains mostly vinyl records, and as Myka pulls out a few she notes most seem to be from the 70’s and some are missing records entirely. She guesses maybe they belonged to Helena’s parents. A cardboard box on an upper shelf is full of crayons and markers; construction paper and coloring books are stacked next to it. The last level holds a few votive candles in glasses, some figurines of cats, a dusty, remote control, and a very dead plant.

Inventory complete, she runs a hand through her curls, leans back, then falls flat on the bed, spreading her limbs out to cover the surface before grabbing a pillow to hug. Her eyes slowly close as she takes a deep breath to clear her mind, but the image of Helena as a little girl is stuck behind her lids. She imagines how different Helena's life growing up must have been from her own, then pictures the Helena she knows now. Though she’s met a variety of people in her travels since leaving Colorado Springs, she knows Helena’s not like anyone she’s encountered before. She barely knows the woman but admits she feels oddly drawn to her and hopes to have a chance to learn more about her life.

Catching herself staring blankly at the ceiling again, she suddenly sits up and pulls her sketchbook out her bag. This is the first time she’s thought to use it since the fire though she’s carried it with her every day. Leaning over the coffee table facing the kitchen, she balances on the edge of the bed, then flips to a blank page and begins to draw.

Completely immersed in her activity, she’s shocked when she sees an hour has passed. She motivates, cleans up her dinner mess, then showers, thinking it’s best to do it now so as to not wake Helena in the morning. She settles into bed and falls asleep while reading.

Awoken briefly by a garbage truck at 4AM, she sleeps soundly until her alarm goes off at eight-thirty. Rising groggily, she makes her way across the apartment to the bathroom, averting her eyes and tiptoeing silently past Helena. On her return, as she quietly closes the door to Christina’s room, she glances at Helena to insure she hasn’t woken.

Myka's heart sinks as she takes in the sight of Helena, passed out fully clothed, looking like an hieroglyph pressed into the bed, head to the side, torso down. Dewy lies sleeping stretched in long line between her legs. Her lips are parted and her hair covers half of her face; strands move in time with her breathing as she snores lightly. Myka silently approaches, kneeling down, gently sweeping Helena’s soft mane out of the way. Helena’s nose twitches, which Myka thinks is adorable. She can’t help studying the woman as she sleeps, eyes pressed together too tightly, worry lines present between her brows and at the edges of her lids, breath a little too quick to be enjoying a peaceful sleep. Her skin is almost as white as her shirt and her hands twinge as if she’s in the middle of a dream. Myka tilts her head and skims Helena's cheek with her fingertips as she places an errant strand of hair behind Helena’s ear. “What could you possibly be dreaming about?” she wonders. Eyes wide, she press her lips into a tight line as she stands, then dons a sad smile. “You care for us,” she thinks, “but who cares for you, Helena?” Her attention shifts as Dewy stretches and she notices Helena is still wearing shoes, feet hanging limply off the end of the bed. Letting out a weighted sigh, she crouches down and removes them carefully. She pauses in the doorway before exiting the room, giving Helena one last lingering look full of compassion, then continues getting ready for work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: If you are interested, go [here](http://beatricethecat2.tumblr.com/mykas_sketches) to view Myka's sketch....it's there - scroll down.
> 
> UP NEXT: Myka meets Claudia and visits her apartment, plus little more H.G. backstory mystery is spun during a shopping trip on the Lower East side. 
> 
> ALSO: I think the story in general is going to stretch a bit for something genuine to grow between M+H, and allow the proper unravelling of H.G's backstory. So maybe a little more than 8 chapters....I hope you'll stick with me. Glad I left that open this time......


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue! Claudia! Christina! Groceries! Within the span of an hour, Myka learns many disparate pieces to the puzzle that is H.G. and Christina's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you found this over on Tumblr, upon migrating it here I've moved more words into the right places and cleaned up the end a bunch in hopes of a smoother read......just FYI.

> ````````````````````````
> 
> _“Cities have the capability to at any moment shift out of the familiar, even if you've lived in one all your life.”_  
>  ― Kate Milford
> 
> ````````````````````````

Sunday morning arrives.

Myka eats breakfast out so as not to disturb Helena, who seems to have to climbed into bed properly after work last night. She returns around noon, finding an awake Helena reading, legs crossed, feet bare, sipping a coffee in the armchair by the window. Upon hearing the door open Helena lowers her newspaper and Myka sees she is already dressed, wearing a red plaid flannel shirt over a low cut grey t-shirt with dark jeans. Her locket hangs heavily from her neck and her hair lies straight but with a bit of wave. Myka thinks she looks positively angelic as the sun streams through the window behind her.

“Hello, stranger! How are you on this fine day?” Helena greets Myka with a sparkle in her eye and a warm smile, looking for all intents and purposes as if she’s had a full nights sleep.

Finding Helena’s smile infectious, a sunny grin takes over Myka's face, “I’m good, thanks.” She abruptly glances to the sofa bed and then back at Helena. “I’m, ah, sorry I didn’t fold that back up, I just didn’t think you’d be up yet….."

Helena uncrosses her legs and leans forward to eye the couch. “That? Dear god no, leave it. I’m not touching it until you are firmly placed in your new lodgings.” She folds the paper in a rather proper manner, lays it on the milk crate side table, then slowly sinks back into the chair while recrossing her legs, arms on armrests, giving Myka her full attention.

Myka gives herself a mental nudge to utter a response as she stands, silently mesmerized by the elegant smoothness of Helena’s action, “…...Oh, ok I guess? Thanks.” Her eyes show both gratitude and confusion. "I’m, um, surprised to see you up though, didn’t you get in really late last night?"

Helena gives a knowing half-smile. "I did indeed, but I have today off and I do not want to waste it on sleep. I’m customarily charge of brunch at Claudia’s on days such as these. Plus I’ll most likely pass out again around four o’clock.”

Suddenly her face lights up and she leans forward slightly, elbows on knees, hands clasping in front of her. "You should join us if you are free.”

Myka feels a tingle of excitement at the thought, but then regret. "Oh wow, that sounds fun but I have to be at work around one for some training with Leena. Sundays are not so busy, so we thought it’d be best. Plus I can just dress casual.” She looks down at her outfit, figure-hugging jeans and a light blue blouse, then runs a hand through her hair, which is is down, curls full and flowing.

Helena wets her lips and looks to the side, “Well, that _is_ a shame as you will miss tasting the culinary delight that is my huevos rancheros.” Her voice is filled with sarcasm. ”But no matter, I shall underwhelm you with my cooking another time perhaps.” She views Myka with a head tilt and an affable grin.

Myka looks down almost bashfully while making an amused sound. She smirks.

"Let me know then you are leaving and I’ll walk out with you. Claudia’s abode is on the way to your workplace.” Helena settles back into the chair and plucks the newspaper off of the table.

“Ok, give me like ten minutes." Myka can’t help feeling disappointed over not be able to go to brunch, as she is _so_ curious to know more about Helena outside of work, but is pleased they’ll at least walk out together.

She gathers her things and soon they are out the door.

Helena makes small talk as they walk. “Have you been finding your way around ok? I’m sorry to not have been a better hostess over the last few days."

"No, it's fine!” Myka doesn't want Helena to think she’s had any problems. "Oh and thank you for the flowers, that was really nice of you. The note you left was really helpful and I was already a little familiar with the neighborhood since there are a lot of galleries and restaurants here."

"Hm, that's true.” Helena seems to only half listen as she turns her attention to a store they are passing. "Sorry, do you mind if we duck in here? I need to get a few things, I’ll only be a minute.”

“Sure.”

Myka eyes the shop before they enter. It has a bright yellow and red awning lined along the top with multicolored light bulbs. Displayed outside on metal shelves are cardboard boxes filled with yams, oranges, papayas, guavas, plantains, onions and several root vegetables that Myka does not immediately recognize. The dirty glass windows behind the display contain faded posters advertising Malta India, Parlament Lights, El Presidente, Goya.

Two burly, disheveled men and a skinny teenager stand next to heavy metal doors that open directly from the sidewalk to the basement. One, wearing a dirty sweatshirt, leaning on a shovel, is gesticulating wildly while speaking in short, sharp, rapid Spanish. He pauses to acknowledge Helena as she walks by. Helena mouths “Pablo,” and he nods at Helena, then at Myka as she walks past. Myka nods back, not quite sure how to address the man. She hears him whistle as she enters the store, then continue on with his rant to his friends.

Myka feels oversized once inside the store. The shelves are unexpectedly narrow and overstuffed with stacked products. All kinds of bric a brac: pencils, pens, phone chargers, salad tongs, hair nets, cassette tapes, and more hang from panels attached to the ceiling; she imagines she could find almost anything in here. The front counter is an elaborate affair made out of clear plexiglass. The window for the clerk is surrounded by see through shelves filled with candy, and above, cigarettes. In front of the counter is a freezer full of ice cream, popsicles, cups of ice, and to the right is a deli case containing lunch meats, chickens, eggs, butter, and other perishables.

As they approach the counter, Myka hears the sound of tinty salsa music playing in the background. A rather handsome, stockily built Latino man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, probably in his fifties, with a five o’clock shadow and short graying hair, talks on the phone. When he spots Helena, he immediately sets the phone down.

Leaning over the counter, he gives Helena a genuine and warm, broad grin. "Hermosa! Como Estas? Long time no see…..” The man’s tone is both effervescent and familiar.

Helena greets the man with a cheerful sort of resignation. “Hola, Papi.”

The man looks beyond Helena and eyes Myka suggestively.

"Nueva Chica?” His words, directed at Helena, are filled with implied innuendo.

"Amiga….," Helena mouths slowly and evenly.

“ _Solamente_ un amiga?" He raises his eyebrows in doubt.

“ _Amiga_ , Papi, amiga," Helena assures him.

He throws his hands up, "Ai, too bad, Hermosa. Ella es _caliente_." He wags his eyebrows up and down several times and nods at Myka.

Helena sighs then purses her lips. She turns to Myka with a flat but suggestive smile. "Si, ella es caliente."

Myka stands rigidly, one arm bent, hand on elbow, eyes following the conversation as it’s thrown back and forth.

"Myka, this is Hector, Hector, Myka."

“Hooola, Myka." Hector greets Myka with a with playful lilt.

Myka smiles and waves shyly.

"Myka moved here about four months ago and is still learning her way around. Be gentle with her, please.” Helena narrows her eyes in warning at Hector.

"Si, si si…...” Hector’s elbows are on the counter and he is leaning over as far as he can, scanning Myka up and down. “Do you have an accent like this one, chica?” He nods briefly toward Helena. "Like from that show my wife watches on the TV…..errrr…abbey something…..” He tilts his head up as if thinking, snapping his fingers.

Helena clears her throat, “Myka, would you be a dear and get me a can of black beans and a jar of salsa while I wrangle some eggs out of Hector."

Myka blinks. “Uh, sure.” Her gaze bounces warily between Helena and Hector.

Myka apprehensively wanders off to locate the supplies, feeling the aisles are so narrow if she were to walk straight though she’d knock everything over with her shoulders. While she searches for beans by a beverage case, a gray and white tabby mews then toddles over to rub against her leg. She gingerly kneels down to pet it and notes how worn the floor is, holes are patched with thick layers of wood, metal, or linoleum. As she scours the shelves in search of Helena’s requested items, the panels bounce under her feet.

Upon her return to the front, she spies a stack of food on the counter. Helena is engaged in a serious conversation with Hector, which vacillates between English and Spanish.

“Ella eligió mal, you know?” Hector shakes his head. “Wrong."

Helena drags a hand through her hair, flustered. “It’s el pasado, Hector, más de dos año. Two, years.” She waves hand dramatically, as if brushing something away, then places the hand on her hip, pausing for a moment while eyeing the floor, running her tongue over her teeth. She sighs deeply, then addresses Hector. “Está bien,” she places a hand on her chest, "I’m ok.” She smiles at Hector, but Myka sees it’s strained, burdened.

Hector looks to Myka where she has been hovering next to Helena. “Hoollla, Chica….,” he says with enthusiasm, flashing Myka a grin that makes her skin crawl. She tries hard not to react, but she’s honestly a little freaked out by whatever is happening right now.

“Oh, Myka, I see you have returned,” Helena nervously quips while swiftly removing the items from Myka’s hands. She places them on the counter, then surveys the pile. “That should be everything, Hector, how much is it all together?"

Hector does the math in his head as he sorts through the items. He picks up the jar of salsa.

"You eat this mierda? Tastes like platos sucios. You know better…..” Hector narrows his eyes, scolding Helena while waving the jar.

Helena acts affronted. "Then why do you sell it, Hector?"

He motions with the salsa at the street. "For the all nueva gringas…..” His tone is almost wistful as he looks to a spot beyond the door.

“Hector, _I’m_ a nueva gringa….,” she side-eyes Myka, "Well maybe not the most........listen we have to go, how much for the lot?"

“Quince setanta y cinco.”

Helena pulls a wad of crumpled bills out of her pocket. “Oh dear, I’m afraid I only have eleven,” then counts her change, “almost twelve. If we take out the candy for Christina how much would it be then— "

“—No no, no. You keep it all, pay me next time.” Hector waves a hand back and forth, sounding not at all put out.

“Gracias señor.” Helena thanks Hector with tiny nod and an ingratiating smile.

"You have fun with your _amgia_ , Hermosa.” The smile he flashes Myka is less showy and somehow more earnest than before.

Myka waves a small pitiful goodbye.

Helena slides the bag of groceries off the counter and hands Myka a cup as they exit the store. "Cafe con Leche. I think it will be to your liking. Drink up."

“Helena you didn’t— “

Helena raises a finger. “I didn’t. It’s a gift from Hector. He said, and I quote 'para la señora'……’for the lady.'"

“Uh, well, ok, thank you?” Myka’s brows angle to the side.

“De nada.” Helena humbly dips her head.

They continue the journey to Claudia's building in relative silence.

Myka sips her coffee as they walk, lost in thought, puzzling together the events from the store, and decides to act on one particular impulse. “Helena, I could have given you money— "

Helena interrupts, rapidly changing the subject, "Hector simply adores when I speak en español with my accent. My Spanish is pathetic these days, but he pushes me. He thinks it's just hilarious….,” she drags out the word “hilarious.”

"....do you speak any Spanish, Myka?"

“Um…..a little. I mostly studied French, Latin, German, some Greek."

Helena gives a knowing eyebrow raise. “Ah."

Noting Helena’s deflection, Myka tries to steer the conversation back to Helena. “So….I guess you’ve been going there a long time…,” she pauses briefly and palms the back of her neck, "I, ah, I’ve never gone into one of those stores before. I've walked past..."

"What, a bodega. Really?" Helena considers this a moment. “Hm. I suppose the demographic of your old neighborhood contains the remnants of Ukrainian and Polish foods, and now also harbors many Korean delis and Japanese groceries. Down here the culture remains Latino… predominantly Puerto Rican and Dominican. And Hector likes to keep the 'vibe' of that particular location ‘real’— his words, not mine. He owns several other stores and has changed both the look and some of the products to cater to the newer, non-Latino crowd. He says he can charge more money for the same items just by their association with fancy chips and organic coffee."

Myka considers this for a moment, becoming slightly enraged by the premise, but then thinks about where she would shop if she were presented with those options, and why she would shop there. She decides it seems like a good business move, actually.

Trying hard not to be sidetracked, Myka sways the topic back to Helena. "You must know a lot of people in the neighborhood."

“Well I used to—,” Helena begins candidly but stops as if catching herself from revealing something too personal, “—when you have a child you tend to meet a lot of people. And we _have_ lived here for quite awhile. Hector has always been quite generous when I needed a bit of credit at times. He knows I’m good for it.”

Myka is pleased that Helena has come full circle back to her earlier comment. “I’m sure you are, Helena, but seriously, I can give you money for letting me—”

“—Ah here we are...” Helena cuts Myka off again, stopping abruptly in front of a tall, blue, oddly shaped high-rise apartment building on a side street.

"....can you come up for a minute? Claudia is quite eager to meet you.” As Helena turns to face Myka, she pulls her jean jacket around herself tightly, shielding herself from the cool spring breeze.

“Um……,” Myka stands staring, thoroughly captivated by the sight of Helena's hair fluttering gracefully in the wind. Finding it hard to resist the almost pleading look in Helena's eyes, she panics and fumbles through her bag, digging desperately for her phone.

“I don’t mean for you to be late for work. You _can_ meet her another day.” Helena sounds dismayed.

Myka suddenly feels terrible for having to go in to work at all today.

“No, it's just— I want to…..let me—,” she finally finds her phone and notes the time. “I’ll just tell them I’ll be a few minutes late.” Myka is _never_ late, but she did say she'd arrive _around_ one o’clock, so she thinks it can’t hurt to be late just this once, right?

She nods in the affirmative to Helena and they enter the building. As they walk through the lobby, Helena greets the doorman and proceeds on to the elevator banks, pressing the 16th floor.

To clear the air, Myka attempts to make small talk. “So….how long has Claudia lived here? You said you two met in college?"

“Claudia bought this place several years ago, deciding to invest in real estate as she’d made a lump of money selling off a startup from our university days. Lately, she’s gone freelance and is presently doing a spot of work with IBM on its Watson AI supercomputer system whose headquarters recently moved to the neighborhood, right on Astor Place."

“Huh, wow. So, she’s, like, a tech genius?"

“Yes. Very much so.” Helena’s eyes gleam with pride.

“And you two went to— "

The elevator doors open and Helena rushes out and down the hall. She presses the doorbell then turns to Myka, “I’m sorry, what were you saying— "

Just then the door opens and a woman with a buoyant red bob and sparkly blue eyeshadow wearing black head to toe appears.

“ _Sestra_ , you finally made it! Get in here we’re starving……”

Claudia opens the door wide, and Christina comes hurling out toward Helena. Helena lifts her up, gives her a kiss, then spins her around. “Oooft…. you are getting far too heavy for this young lady." She sets Christina down with a thud. "Say hello to Myka, Christina."

“Hello, Myka!" Christina cheerfully greets Myka while holding on to Helena tightly.

“Hi, Christina.” Myka gives Christina big bright smile.

Christina dashes over and grabs Myka’s hand. “Come and see what Aunt Claudia and I built last night….."

“Uh, ok…, “ Myka looks toward Helena with bewilderment as Christina pulls her into the apartment.

Helena watches as the two recede with a warm smile, then turns back to Claudia.

Christina stops by a structure made of legos situated between an enormous television and a sprawling sectional couch. “We watched an old movie last night where this creepy guy with spiky hair kidnaps this kid and his sister has to rescue him from the middle of a maze.”

Myka views Claudia and Christina's construction, which looks to be an elaborate maze. “Wow, this is incredible, Christina! I think I remember that movie, what’s it called?” She addresses Christina, but her eyes face Helena and Claudia in hopes of monitoring their conversation.

Helena's back to is Myka, and she speaks to Claudia as they stand near the door.

_“….I do apologize for keeping you waiting, but I needed a few supplies and Hector was overly chatty about— well,_ things _today. Also, I wanted you to meet Myka…..”_

“Labyrinth!” Christina blurts out in an effort to gain Myka’s attention.

“Hmm? MmmHm,” Myka hums, eyes still planted on Helena. “I remember that, the one with David Bowie, right? It's not that old…,” she glances at Christina but keeps an ear toward Helena.

“It looked old to me, everyone was dressed funny and there were weird, like, puppets…..I mean stuff not made up in a computer. And Aunt Claudia said they shouldn’t have called the movie 'Labyrinth' because the labyrinth in the movie isn’t really a labyrinth.” Christina's face shows certainty, pleased as punch to be relaying this information as fact to Myka.

Myka turns to fully face Christina with questioning eyes. Both their gazes swing around suddenly as Claudia raises her voice.

_“.…Why do you still go there? I mean you know he’s going to be there, its_ his _store. And you brought her?….”_

Claudia aggressively nods in Myka's direction, eyes firmly planted on Helena.

_“….I bet he had a field day with that—“_

_“— well I didn’t think he was going to be there today, OK? Juan is usually there Sundays…..”_

Claudia eyes Helena suspiciously.

Christia pipes up, diverting Myka from the scene of the argument. “We looked it up last night and a labyrinth only has one path, but a maze has a lot. A maze has dead ends, but a labyrinth doesn't. We decided the movie really has a maze, so we built a labyrinth."

Myka kneels down to inspect the highly impressive structure. “I see, wow, this is pretty amazing. How long did it take you to build it?” She half turns to listen as Helena continues talking.

_“…..honestly I wasn’t thinking at all. It was out of habit as I’m low on cash and.….you know Walter's decided not to pay us until Tuesday, and he’s holding onto tips until then, so— “_

_“— What? He can’t do that, can he? That’s not right. Or is he just doing it to you because your visa is up for renewal— “_

_“— Oh, I don’t know. Bloody ridiculous man, I think he does it on purpose just to rub it in. That job should be mine not his, stupid work papers…… “_

Christina plops onto the sectional couch. “A couple of hours - we stayed up waaaay past my bedtime.” She swings her feet and grins from ear to ear.

Myka smiles back, then sits next to her on the couch. “I bet you do that a lot with your Aunt Claudia….” She glances to the side at Claudia.

_“….You know how I feel about your ‘job’….”_

Myka sees Claudia motion with air quotes at the word “job."

Helena crosses her arms and assumes a defensive stance.

_“….You need a better ‘job'. Any ‘job' that's not that ‘job', H.G. You can do sooooo much better….”_

“They think I don’t notice when they do that.” Christina tilts her head up, face an open book, speaking candidly to Myka.

Myka turns to Christina, a little embarrassed to not have been paying attention to her. “Do what, honey?"

“Fight."

Concern washes over Myka at Christina's earnest confession. “Do they fight a lot?”

_“….you are like so competent, like uber competent H.G, and Walter is, like, a total idiot, but he manages to get you to do his job and take all the credit….”_

“They used to, then they didn’t, and now they do. When I was little I didn’t really understand what they were saying, but now I do.” Christina’s shoulders slump as she looks down at her still swinging feet.

Myka gently places a hand on Christina's back as if to comfort her. “What do they fight about?"

“Mostly mom’s job. Sometimes our apartment. Aunt Claudia wants us to come and live with her again.” Christina looks up a Myka, eyes filled with an awareness beyond her eight years.

“Do you like your apartment?"

“It’s not as nice as Aunt Claudia's, but mom likes it, and I like being with mom.” Christina’s posture perks up a bit. "And I like helping mom fix things when they break cos she teaches me cool stuff. She can fix, like, anything! We used to do it all the time, but now she's always too tired.” She looks longingly over at Helena with reverence and love.

Myka glances that way too.

_“...I mean you’re like the smartest person I’ve ever met, smarter than me, and you_ know _how much it pains me to say that H.G. I’ve been literally watching your brain rot for years because of that stupid job….”_

As she takes in the sight of Claudia berating Helena further, Myka feels sad for her. She turns to Christina.

“You don’t get to spend much time with your mom, do you.”

Christina shrugs. “I dunno, yeah, I guess……but Sundays are my favorite because we spend the whole day together.” She bounces up and down a little, seeming both excited and antsy at the same time.

“I’m sure they are her favorite too.” Her eyes travel back to Helena and she thinks there are so many questions she’d like to ask if they ever stop fighting.

_“….and you know I wouldn’t even have this place if it wasn’t for you, so I don’t know why you are being so pigheaded about— “_

_“—Claudia,_ not now, _all right, we have a guest…..”_

Myka turns quickly back to Christina as Helena swings around to face her. She hears Helena and Claudia’s footsteps as they stride in tandem into the living room.

“Claudia this is Myka, Myka, Claudia.” Her head nods at the appropriate person while she introduces the two women.

Myka stands, and Claudia reaches out to vigorously shake her hand. “Ah. So _this_ is the woman I keep hearing so much about. Maybe you can talk some sense into her."

As Myka’s hand jiggles, she eyes Claudia quizzically then turns her head toward Helena.

Christina hops off the couch and grabs Helena’s wrist. “Mom, come and look what Aunt Claudia and I built!”

Helena looks worse for wear but beams lovingly at Christina, “ All right.” She follows Christina to the Lego structure as Christina explains what it is about.

As Claudia releases her grip on Myka's hand, Myka scans the room. “Claudia, your apartment is _amazing_. It’s like something out of a magazine.” The main space is expansive, a modern loft-like living room lined with floor to ceiling windows tinted with various densities of blue. To the right is an open kitchen with a granite bar divider. Behind the kitchen is a hall that must lead to the bathroom and other rooms, she thinks. It’s the polar opposite of Helena’s apartment.

Claudia shrugs but then dons a smarmy smirk, “It is isn’t it?. I got lucky I bought it when I did, it was a deal through a short sale through a guy….I could totally flip it and make beaucoup cash right now…,” she glances at Helena and Christina, “…..but that's not what it's about.” She turns back to Myka, "Anyway, Myka, make yourself at home, I’ll go give the debutante a shove and she'll rustle us up some breakfast…."

“Oh I can’t stay, I have to work."

Claudia stills, giving Myka a firm eye, “I see, you are one of those. No wonder you two get along so well.” She nods her head towards Helena.

Myka wonders what she means by that, but doesn't ask.

“Well then, since she dragged you all the way up here why don’t you relax for a minute or two, take in the view.” She turns towards Helena, “H.G. show the nice lady around, will ya? Christina Sarah Wells, grab your mom’s groceries and bring them to the kitchen so we can get this party started!"

“OK!” Christina dashes over and grabs the bags then scuttles to the kitchen.

Helena rises and joins Myka. “I know you have to go, but the view really is worth a moment.” With an inviting smile, she extends a hand. Myka instinctively takes it.

They cross the room, then Helena releases Myka's hand to unlock and open a door. She walks out and over to the edge of the balcony straightaway as Myka follows slowly behind, drinking in the view. They both lean on the railing, inadvertently standing inches away from each other.

“Helena this is incredible.” The view includes all of Lower Manhattan, but Myka can also make out Brooklyn and maybe New Jersey too.

Helena points to a section of the street below. “In a few years those block long empty lots will be filled with high-rises, changing everything in this neighborhood. We all need to get our fill of it while we can.” She turns to Myka with solemn eyes.

Myka's not sure why, but she feels Helena's words are less about the view and more about herself. She shivers slightly, sucking in a sudden breath, as a strong gust of wind blows by.

Helena notices Myka’s discomfort. “You _are_ cold often aren’t you Myka. Here, take my jacket.” She spins Myka to face her and reaches around, covering Myka’s shoulders with the jacket. 

As Helena leans in, her breath skims Myka's cheek and their bodies nearly touch. Myka impulsively pulls back, heart skipping a beat, nervously casting her eyes down.

“I….I’m OK.” She looks up at Helena. “I—uh, I should get going. I’m really sorry I can’t stay, maybe another time?”

Helena narrows her eyes in question, and opens her mouth to speak, but hesitates. She turns to gaze out at the skyline and spins the ring on her right hand. “I’m sorry, you’re right.” She glances at Myka but lowers her eyes before speaking. "I didn’t mean to keep you, I know you have important matters to attend to. Another time, perhaps.” She dips her head as she says “perhaps," then eyes the door. “Let's go in."

Helena walks purposefully toward the door without looking back.

Myka closes her eyes tightly and puffs out a breath. “Way to go, Bering, real awkward….” she says to herself, “…alienate your host why don’t you.” She follows Helena into the apartment.

Upon entering the living room, Helena broadcasts, “Our guest must take leave of us, please come forth and say your goodbyes."

Claudia and Christina promptly emerge from the kitchen. Christina runs up and gives Myka an unexpectedly affectionate hug. “Bye, Myka!"

Helena dons humble smile. “Perhaps our paths shall cross this evening Myka, but if not, have a lovely day at work.”

Claudia is next, “Yeah, see ya.” She slaps Myka on the arm, but not too hard. "Next time come and hang out for awhile……. _heyyyy_ , you still around Friday night? We could do dinner here before this one goes to her ‘job’.” She elbows Helena.

“Ow! Claudia…."

“I, uh, I think I can. I’ll, um, let you know.” Myka feels she can’t give a definitive answer right away, as she’s not one hundred percent sure of her schedule this week, plus she’s too concerned with getting to work right now.

"I’m so sorry everyone, but I really do have to go. But thanks and have a great brunch!”

She removes Helena’s jacket, and as she returns it to her she notes a hint of hurt in Helena’s eyes. Feeling suddenly like an insensitive jerk, she grabs her purse, then speedily heads out the door.

As she impatiently waits for the elevator, she mentally kicks herself for not sounding more enthusiastic about dinner. She’d like to join them for dinner, she thinks, to get to know them all better, but she’s not sure she’ll still be at Helena’s on Friday because, well, that's too long to stay, right….a whole week? She frets at the thought.

The elevator arrives, and she steps in. As it descends she unconsciously runs a thumb over her palm and finds herself dwelling upon the sensations of Helena pulling her across the room; the taught muscles in her grip, the rough calluses on her palm, the heat emanating from her hand, the pleasant tingle running up her arm. And Helena's breath on her cheek— her heart _jumped_ ……what _was_ that about Myka?

She barely registers her surroundings on her walk to work as she churns through possible meanings and scenarios concerning Helena. While she is willing to acknowledge Helena stirs certain feelings within her, she’s not sure how to interpret those feelings just yet, and she finds that _incredibly_ frustrating.

As she runs through the events of the morning, a memory of Claudia calling Christina by her full name shoots to the surface…." _Wells_ ,” she thinks, “Claudia said Christina’s last name was _Wells_. And Claudia calls Helena H.G……” Myka halts in her tracks. "H.G. Wells?……..seriously, Helena, your parents named you H.G. Wells?" She really hopes Helena is home this evening when she returns from work as she certainly has questions…...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View Myka's sketch from Saturday night [here](http://beatricethecat2.tumblr.com/mykas_sketches), scroll down once you are there.
> 
> My Spanish/Spanglish is terrible, I know, but I do hope it's at least serviceable here. That's probably the bulk of its appearance.
> 
> Also: Don't be worried, _all_ of this will add up to something, and I have so much more for you! The pieces will fit snugly together, I promise.
> 
> ***Next up, more informative chatting with Abigail and dinner at Claudia's.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail gives Myka a push and Myka figures out a few important things about herself. Christina has some fun while Helena becomes more cryptic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Ok so, sorry.......no dinner at Claudia’s just yet; I had to slice this chapter in two because some handholding got a little intense. But it is coming soon.......
> 
> Also as per usual - some editing was done while transferring from Tumblr for readability + hopefully I fixed most of the typos.

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> _The challenge for me has first been to see things as they are, whether a portrait, a city street, or a bouncing ball. In a word, I have tried to be objective._  
>  -Berenice Abbott

``````````````````````````````

Myka's day at work throws her into the world of database intricacies as they relate to international holdings and partnerships. After six hours of tutorials, both Myka and the head registrar, Leena, are exhausted. Leena suggests dinner, on her, at a nearby restaurant and Myka readily agrees.

The meal is pleasant and Leena, due to her pregnancy, tries her best to live vicariously though Myka by convincing her to order not one but two cocktails. When they part ways, Myka quickly realizes she is quite tipsy, occasionally stumbling on her way back to Helena’s.

As she enters the apartment, she hears giggling and spies Helena and Christina snuggled up in the distance on Helena’s bed, watching something on an iPad. Her first impulse is to not disturb their together time, to keep to herself, but her second suggests it might seem rude to not say hello.

She removes her jacket and sets down her bag, then walks over to peek quietly into Helena's room. Two faces look up at her with equally humored expressions.

“Hello, you two….” Myka gives a tiny wave then leans casually on the door frame, crossing her arms.

Helena attempts to greet Myka by pulling herself up slightly. One arm flies up wildly as Chistina flops on top of her, pinning her down, hugging her tightly, using her stomach as a pillow.

“Oooooft, Christina….really,” Helena mumbles with feigned shock. Her arm settles on Christina’s back while she places the iPad on the side table, mouthing “Claudia’s” to Myka, amusement lingering in her eyes.

Myka surveys the scene with a crooked grin, feeling a warmth inside as she recalls how excited Christina was to be able to spend the day with her mom.

Helena turns to Myka and endeavors to acknowledge her properly. “Hello, Myka, how was your day at work?”

“It was fine thank you. How was brunch?"

“What did you think Christina?” Helena looks down at Christina, tenderly wiping her hair out of her face.

Christina opens one eye and angles it up at Helena, clearly annoyed at having to answer. “It was fine mom, but I liked the eggs you made last week better.” She sinks further into Helena’s torso.

“So there you go. Two and a half stars.” Helena’s tone is bubbly as if pleased by the rating. She cocks her head to the side and eyes Christina with affection, rubbing soothing circles over her back. "You should probably get ready for bed, dearest."

“Uuugh.” Christina huffs.

Helena runs a hand through Christina’s dark curls. “You can’t deny you're sleepy already and it _is_ a school night."

“Fine.” Christina peels herself off Helena and shuffles slowly out of the room.

Myka watches with mirth as Christina exits, but her cheerfulness fades as she turns back toward Helena. Guilt has hung heavily over her all day due to the way she left things this morning and she’s determined to make them right, the alcohol in her blood giving her the confidence to be candid.

“Helena?”

Helena sits up and leans against the wall, giving Myka her full attention.

Myka wets her lips and gazes down at her fingers as they fidget with a button on her shirt. “I’m, um, sorry for being, you know, weird this morning. It's just, I dunno, I had to go…,” she looks up directly at Helena, “….but I wanted to stay. I don’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate meeting Claudia and being asked to join you.” Her mouth downturns as she angles her eyes pensively to the side. “I’ve, uh, been told I have really bad people skills.”

Lips curling into an understanding smirk, Helena motions for Myka to come and sit on the edge of the bed. Myka complies, and Helena scoots over to perch next to her.

Hands clasped on lap, Helena runs her thumb over a knuckle. “It’s alright, Myka. It is clearly _I_ who should apologize. I threw you in with us unannounced, and I should have stopped somewhere other than Hector’s. It was rather thoughtless of me. I delayed you longer than expected, and for that I am sorry.” She pulls her shoulders in low.

Myka turns to Helena, glossing over Helena's apology by continuing with her earlier train of thought. “I, uh, _would_ like to come to dinner on Friday, it's just— I’m not sure where I’ll be by then.” She dips her head down to study her shoes. “I— I've only ever stayed for a few days in any one place and— and I don’t want to put you out."

Helena places a reassuring hand on Myka’s shoulder. "When I said you could stay as long as you like, I meant it wholeheartedly, Myka. I know the place isn’t luxurious and I’d completely understand if moved on to better lodgings, but please, do not think you are putting us out. In fact, Christina quite likes you, if it's any consolation."

Myka looks up at Helena skeptically. “How do you know that?”

“I believe it is due to the fact she said rather bluntly to me today, ‘Mom, I like Myka.’"

Myka chuckles once and as she looks down humbly, the corners of her lips upturn.

“Look, if you are comfortable enough here, you are more welcome to stay until you move into your new place.” She gives Myka’s shoulder and encouraging squeeze, then runs her fingertips lightly down the back of Myka’s arm before dropping her hand onto the bed.

Myka's skin quivers at Helena’s touch, and her posture stiffens. "Th—thank you, Helena. I’ll, um, keep that in mind.” She still feels like this is an inconvenience for Helena but vows to stay until the weekend at least.

They sit in a pensive silence together for a moment until Myka turns to Helena wearing a playfully crooked smirk.

“So, uh…..H.G. Wells?”

Helena grimaces knowingly at Myka, then looks down, hands gripping the edge of the bed. She flexes her toes and rolls her feet. “Distant relative. And my parents had a thing for classic science fiction literature."

Myka watches mindfully as Helena’s demeanor turns almost bashful and is thoroughly charmed. She thinks it's uncanny how much her behavior echoes Christina’s this morning at Claudia’s. “And the G?”

"George, my father’s uncle. Apparently the only one in the family that was ever supportive of us. I don’t remember him at all, he died when I was very little.” Helena’s shoulders curl ever so slightly, and her head dips a little lower.

Myka narrows her eyes and wonders what she could mean by that, but realizes this is not the time to ask. “I’m, ah, sorry."

Christina energetically enters the room. “Ready mom!”

Helena looks up, memory spiral broken and rises from the bed. “All right, dear. Say goodnight to Myka."

“Goodnight!” She gives Myka a sleepy hug.

“Goodnight, Christina."

\---------

The next morning Myka wakes early enough to say goodbye as Christina and Helena are departing for school and work. She has the day off and spends it running errands; laundry, groceries, shopping. In an effort to rebuild her wardrobe she researches options on the internet at a cafe and commits to a several items she’s sure of. Helena encouraged her to hang the few outfits she already owns on her rolling rack, but she doesn’t want to take up the entirety of it with her things.

She cooks a meal at the apartment and as she’s cleaning up her phone rings. Laying down the dish sponge, she crosses the room to dig her phone out of her purse. She smiles as she sees the caller.

"Hi, Abigail!” Myka sounds genuinely happy to hear from her.

"Hey, Myka. I just wanted to check in, see how you are doing. How’s the new digs with the mystery woman and her kid?”

Myka smirks to herself. "Fine, I think. Well, weird but fine.”

"I’m not hearing a resounding enthusiasm here, Myka. Describe ‘weird but fine’."

"No no no nono no, it’s fine.” Myka quickly realizes what she said isn’t what she meant. "And Helena and Christina, her daughter, are lovely, really, _really_ lovely. Really. It’s the apartment that’s taking some getting used to."

“Hm….ok…..tell me all about it…..."

Myka proceeds to describe the details of Helena’s apartment, the encounter at the bodega, and the scene at Claudia's loft while Abigail occasionally gasps and utters “no way.” They end with Helena’s offer the previous evening encouraging Myka to stay until May.

“So, what do you think Abbs?"

"I’d say if you are comfortable enough there you should stay— you _need_ some stability right now, Myka. And if you feel you are in the way, you can always move on for a little while. It’s just for, like, two weeks, right? And if they are home as little as they say, I’m sure you’re fine."

"Hm. Ok.” Myka wants to believe Abigail, but still feels apprehensive.

"It also sounds to me like your host knows what you need right now. Does she have a psychology degree?"

“I have no idea, Abbs.” Myka pauses in frustration as she thinks about how little show knows about Helena. “But, she _is_ a bartender."

"Close enough I guess?” Abigail half-jokes.

“Abbs, I really don't know the first thing about Helena's past. The books and photos in her apartment don't add up to much."

"Well get to know her!” Abigail commands forcefully. "Cook them dinner one night, ask questions. It’s what normal people do."

Myka sighs. “Yeah, right, ok, I should— well, Claudia invited me to dinner on Friday at her place with all of them, so that works, right?” Myka sounds apologetic.

"Well, there you go, good girl. While you are there, ask questions, but _tactfully_ Myka. And try to relax!"

"Ok Abbs, it's just— you know I’m not good at making small talk,” Myka admits discouragingly.

“So very, very true. I _have_ witnessed your awkwardness when it comes to casual gatherings. Maybe make sure you have a drink or two first."

Myka huffs a sound of disapproval.

Abigail continues unfazed. “And if all else fails, talk to the kid more. They are literally _fonts_ of information, you know.” Her tone is factual.

“Abigail!”

"What? Look, we’ll probably both be popping some out in the future so it's better if you get used to them now….."

“……uhh, Abbs, I don’t……."

“….. _whatever_ , Myka, just talk to them, ok? And I want updates, you got that? I feel like I'm almost as into this woman you are. I want _all_ the details."

"Wha— what do you mean by that?"

Abigail releases a well-worn sigh in Myka’s direction. "Really, Myka— you.......oh nevermind. We'll talk about _that_ next time."

\-------------------

Myka spends the rest of her evening leisurely sketching and reading until Christina and Helena arrive. They exchange pleasantries then Helena diligently helps Christina with her homework until bedtime.

Tuesday passes in a similar fashion, Myka waves goodbye in the morning, and Helena and Christina appear just in time for bed.

On Wednesday, when Myka wakes, she’s somehow slept through Helena and Christina's exit entirely and thinks she must be getting comfortable with this new routine. Dewy has even decided to settle next to her on the covers and blinks at groggily as she stirs. She slips out of bed, trying her best to not disturb him and spies a note on the coffee table.

_Myka,_

_I didn’t mean to pry, but I chanced a look at your sketchbook, which was left open on the coffee table yesterday morning. I thought you might make use of these….I’m sure they are nothing special, but they were in the lost and found behind the bar._

_Have a lovely day at work,_

_\- H_

Under the note, she finds a set of travel watercolors in a case, with a few brushes inside.

Helena's gesture warms her heart, though in hindsight she’s a bit embarrassed to have left her sketchbook open. She hopes Helena doesn’t mind that she's been drawing her things, and resolves to ask for her permission in person tonight.

She texts Helena a simple: _Thank you_

Helena texts back: _de nada_

\----------------------

Myka finds Helena busy cooking when she arrives at the apartment after work. Christina is also present, but is occupied in her room. As Myka enters, Helena flashes her a cheery, almost enthusiastic smile. Myka mirrors it back.

“Hi,” Myka gives a little wave then walks over to eye Helena’s culinary choice for the evening.

“Join us for dinner?” Helena asks cordially while stirring vegetables in a pan.

“Totally. I’m starving,” Myka replies with a hearty appreciation in her voice.

Moving on to the living room, she sets down her bag and takes off her coat. She plops heavily on the edge of the sofa bed, willing the tension of the day to fall off by rolling her head in circles. As she rubs the back of her neck, her eyes land on Helena’s form as she stands at the stove, the vision of a modern domestic goddess in simple dark grey sweatpants and an oversized white t-shirt.

Her hand stills and her shoulders drop as she falls into a deep stare, lips slowly parting, suddenly picturing her arms snaking lazily around Helena’s slender waist, pulling her close, drinking in the feel of Helena's body heat. She imagines burying her face in that velvety hair, breathing in its scent, gently nudging it to the side to run her lips breathily over the nape of Helena's neck.......and as Helena gasps, pressing those lips firmly down on…...

“Christina, dinner!” Helena shouts, and Myka blinks hard, heart racing, trance broken. Elbows on knees, she drops her head into her hands, rubbing her eyes with her fingers, then drags them roughly through her hair. Drawing in a deep breath, she glances back at Helena. “Jeez, Myka, objectify your host much?" she thinks. Her cheeks puff as she lets the breath out slowly. “You know that feeling you couldn’t place the other day? Well it’s, uh..... _definitely_ attraction."

The coffee table is cleared and food is consumed while Christina regales Helena and Myka with tales of her day at school. While Helena cleans up, Myka offers to help Christina with her homework. As they sit working on math, Christina shyly asks to see Myka’s sketches. Myka suggests once her homework is done, they can sketch together. Christina’s eyes light up, and she blazes through her tasks.

Myka and Christina sit happily engaged in drawing and painting until Christina's bedtime. At some point in the evening, Myka feels Helena’s gaze upon them and looks up, finding her leaning on the doorframe between rooms, watching the two of them intently with a brightness in her eyes, wearing an almost proud smile. She nods modestly at Myka, then pushes off and occupies herself with a task located further in the bedroom. As Myka turns back to Christina, a slow, sweet, lopsided grin takes over her face.

Christina helps Myka clean up, then obediently gets ready for bed. Helena tucks Christina in, then situates herself squarely on the edge of the sofa bed next to Myka, shuffling though the evening's drawings and watercolors. Myka stays head down, studiously finishing up a sketch.

“Thank you ever so much for entertaining her this evening, Myka. You are very kind.”

“I don’t mind, really, it was fun.” Myka smiles to herself warmly, thinking she truly enjoyed the feeling of freely of laying marks on the page while Christina earnestly recorded what was in front of her. “By the way, I wanted to ask you…is it ok that I’m, like, sketching your things? To be truthful, I’m not entirely sure why I am, it’s not something I usually do. It just feels, well, kind of cathartic to be creative after everything that's happened.” She scribbles a line at the bottom of the page.

"I don’t mind at all, Myka.”

Holding her sketchbook at arms length, Myka gives a tiny nod in recognition of the drawing being complete. She lays both the book and her pencil down, then turns her attentions to Helena. As their gazes meet, she is taken aback by the level of exhaustion in Helena's eyes.

Helena manages a tired smile then picks Myka’s sketchbook up off of the table. “May I?”

Myka nods.

Helena flips through, stopping on one particular image. “Well, I think you’ve captured the ‘charm’ of the place here."

Myka leans over to get a closer look at the sketch and notices Helena’s forearms are full of light red, slightly swollen abrasions.

“Helena? What the…..” Myka nimbly removes the book from Helena's hands and sets it aside, taking hold Helena’s wrist, pulling one arm toward her. She runs her fingers lightly over the scratches. “These look painful, what happened?” She eyes Helena with concern.

Helena examines at the arm as if she hadn’t noticed the scrapes before. “It's nothing. Just moving some things around….."

Myka glares at Helena in disbelief.

“….at work.” Helena says this as fact, but her tone is unconvincing.

Myka studies Helena’s arm further, tracing the path of one particularly long scratch gently with a finger. "These look fresh, Helena, like from today. I thought you said had the day off?"

“Mmm— in a manner of speaking, yes."

Myka looks expectantly toward Helena, eagerly awaiting further details.

Helena stares stalwartly at Myka’s finger as it rests on her forearm. She slowly slides her arm back so that Myka’s hand drops into hers, then balls it into a fist, covering it protectively with both of her own. She rests the intertwined mass on her thigh and gazes pensively at it as she falls into deep thought.

Myka, unsure of what exactly to do or say next, considers Helena’s gesture. The warmth and strength of Helena’s hands takes her back to Claudia’s apartment, to the delight she felt as Helena pulled her across the room. The fit is so _right_ , she thinks, and she basks quietly but blissfully in the sensation. Her only caveat is the worry that this action is actually in preparation for information she might not want to hear.

Helena eventually speaks, eyes remaining fixed on their joined hands. “While it may not be apparent on the surface, I am fully aware of the image I project, of how I come off upon first meeting. The flirting, the deflection; it's a game, a mask, a shield. I’ve watched people’s opinions of me alter dramatically once they learn I’m a single mother. And if they ever actually meet my daughter, they haven’t the faintest clue how to interact with her, especially with her precocious tendencies. It saddens me deeply, Myka, as being a parent is one of the few things I am proud of in this life.” Her head hangs low.

Myka narrows her eyes in question, scanning Helena up and down, thinking this is definitely _not_ what she thought Helena was going to say, alternately pleased that Helena has opened up to her but disheartened by her words. While the scratches on her arm remain a mystery, she decides to go with this new train of thought, as it must be something Helena has wanted to get off of her chest for awhile.

Helena squeezes Myka’s hand tightly and raises her head a little, lips upturned thoughtfully, pausing as if lost in a memory. When she turns to Myka, there is a deep sincerity in her eyes.

“You are quite extraordinary, Myka Bering.”

Helena uncurls Myka’s hand and eyes it curiously, as if taking in the length and height of it, then gingerly places it palm down on Myka’s thigh. She rests her own hand lightly on top as if making sure it is secure, then rises.

“I’m going to turn in. Thank you again for helping my daughter. Goodnight, Myka."

As Helena exits the room, Myka watches with a new level of confusion and worry in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To view a few of Myka’s sketches and watercolors from this week click [here](http://beatricethecat2.tumblr.com/mykas_sketches) and scroll down
> 
> Next up - dinner at Claudia’s.......


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka attempts to decipher Helena’s speech from the previous evening. Claudia has a frank talk with Myka about H.G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say for the record that the Claudia in this story is a little older than on the show.

````````````````````````

> _The City attaches an exaggerated importance to the healing power of lunch._  
>  -Christopher Fieldes 

````````````````````````

Myka lies awake mulling over the events of the evening for far longer than she’d like. She _thinks_ she grasps what Helena was trying communicate but keeps second guessing herself. And she's worried about Helena's health. Plus, now there is no doubt in her mind that she is physically attracted to Helena, which maybe is a problem? She’s not entirely sure. She tries to justify her rather lucid kitchen fantasy by imaging it as a side effect of hunger and fatigue, but knows in her heart there is something more going on.

She sleeps through Helena and Christina’s exit in the morning _and_ her alarm, causing her to rush her usual routine and hustle to work. The gallery atmosphere is hectic all morning and she _really_ needs to focus, but finds she’s too preoccupied with thoughts of Helena to be productive. She manages to run out for lunch before anyone can offer to join her, hoping to willfully put her mind to rest, knowing she desperately needs some time to herself.

As she walks briskly out of the gallery, she calls Abigail. The line goes straight to voicemail.

“This is Abigail. I’m in dissertation hell, so if you don’t hear back from me, it's been nice knowing you."

Sighing heavily, she remembers how crazy things can be at the end of the semester, and puts her phone away. She begrudgingly admits to herself she’ll just have to remember, and decipher, Helena’s dialog from last night on her own.

She parks herself in a restaurant at the end of an alley a few blocks away from work, somewhere she thinks she's less likely to run into coworkers. Ordering a lobster roll and a water, she sits in the furthermost corner, lazily picking at her food with a plastic fork. Her thoughts turn inward as she stares blankly out the window at a brick wall across the street.

“Ok, Myka, you can figure this out on your own. Start at the beginning, take it one sentence at a time.” She slowly runs through the words Helena said last night as she held Myka's hand.

“What kind of image _does_ Helena project upon first meeting?” She tells herself to be objective. "Well, charming, charismatic, quick-witted, good-looking, dashing……,” an image of Helena, standing in front of Claudia’s, hugging her jean jacket tightly, hair flitting in the wind floats into her mind, “….. _definitely_ dashing.” She pictures Helena the day they first met at the hotel and recalls how _beautiful_ she thought she was, even through her shock and grief. She suddenly understands what Helena meant.

“So…..everyone thinks she’s really hot when they first meet her, and she knows it. And….” Myka thinks back to what Helena said next, “…..she plays with that image, uses it to her advantage as long as she can. She thinks once people learn she's a mom, a single mom, her value as a commodity shrinks in their eyes. That they can't fathom how this wild sexy thing they’ve been presented with could also be a responsible parent who loves her daughter to death."

The perceived dichotomy between the two causes a slow anger to rise in Myka's chest.

"I mean why can’t she be a mom who is _also_ a wild sexy thing…..” The thought conjures an image of Helena in the kitchen last night, “OK, Myka, you seem to be stuck on sexy here, and that’s what Helena was saying last night…. _everyone_ gets stuck on sexy. And as a sort of coping mechanism, she keeps people at a distance, maybe taunts them for awhile, then probably throws them away."

She frowns as she considers this conclusion. Poking her lunch with her fork, she nearly takes a bite, but instead gradually sets the fork back down as she comes to a realization. Her mouth hangs open just a little as she stares glassy-eyed at her food.

“Ok, I get it. Helena is saying I shouldn't take her flirting seriously, and that if I’ve felt she's lead me on, to not take it personally."

Her lips flatten and her eyes tighten. “But _did_ she lead me on? I mean, am I attracted to her because she lead me on? "

Resenting the idea entirely, she huffs out a breath in annoyance. She looks up, then randomly back out the window. Her eyes land on the outdoor restaurant seating and as she focuses on a chair, her mind is drawn back the coffee shop, specifically the day when she accepted Helena’s offer to stay at her apartment.

“Helena was full of compliments, but I just thought she was trying to cheer me up…..,” she thinks back to even earlier interactions with Helena, “….. _and_ — she never hid the fact that she had a daughter…..”

The pieces begin to fit together and she slumps in her chair, eyes closing, chin dropping. She rubs the bridge of her nose and breathes in deeply. "It was all a—a— _test_ —“

Her arm drops and she lifts her head while breathing out heavily through her nose, “—and— _and_ she’s telling me she was—“

Eyes glazing over, head listing to the side, her mouth falls slightly open, “—and that I shouldn’t—”

She squeezes her eyes shut, "….. _God_ , I am _so_ clueless.” Her posture slips even further and she leans her head on the window, heart sinking into her stomach.

Lingering momentarily in self-pity, she berates herself for being naive and acting like an utter fool, playing right into Helena’s expectations of her. She runs through all of her interactions with Helena, trying to pinpoint when she was lead astray, but eventually admits to herself something about that explanation is not quite right. Slowly it dawns on her…..she’s been shown _two_ Helena's, the public Helena, the one for show, and the private Helena, the one at home. Truth be told, Helena’s not said or done anything over the top since Myka began staying at the apartment. In fact, Helena has been the perfect gentlema…er….woman.

She lifts her head off the glass, then sits up straight, hands flat on the table. “It was an apology. She was _apologizing_ for flirting and deflecting, for keeping me at a distance." Her mind flashes to last night, to the subtle nod Helena gave while she and Christina were drawing. “That moment, that was _it._ Something changed, _clicked……..that’s_ why she opened up to me."

The corners of her mouth slowly grow into a sly smile as she leans over, elbow on table, hand on chin, fingers over lips, a feeling of relief washing over her.

“So yeah ok, right. But by telling me all of this, she was basically saying…..,” she ruminates on that thought. “What _was_ she saying?" She narrows her eyes. "And why exactly am I extraordinary?”

She leans back in her chair, then sighs. “And now what do I do?”

Suddenly noticing her food as if it just magically appeared, she picks up her fork and spears a chunk of lobster.

“I _so_ need to talk to Abigail"

\-------------------

After an exhausting day at work, Myka decides she needs to decompress before coming face to face with Helena tonight. She's not even sure if Helena will be home, but to avoid having to deal with the situation she meanders through the neighborhood, stopping at few gallery openings before picking up takeout for dinner.

Inevitably arriving at Helena’s building, she pauses before entering, vowing to not objectify her this evening, to just play it cool.

Once inside she finds Helena in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner. Christina is on the sofa bed, deep in homework mode.

Helena turns to greet Myka and holds her gaze for what Myka feels is a fraction of a second too long. In that moment, Myka _swears_ something unknowable but fundamentally important has shifted between them.

Helena's eyes drop questioningly to Myka’s hands, where she is carrying a plant, bought on a whim as a gift.

Christina runs over and with puppy dog eyes asks Myka if they can sketch again after homework. Myka graciously agrees. During the course of the evening Helena keeps her distance, but watches over them with a smile. Conversation is light, sketching is jovial, and Myka decides to introduce collaging to Christina using Helena’s newspaper from the weekend. Dewy willingly serves as her model.

\-------------------

Friday arrives, and Myka admits to herself she’s a little nervous about dinner at Claudia’s. Things seem to have found a comfortable groove at the apartment and she hopes tonight won’t throw a wrench into it all. She also hopes to gain insight into the lot of them, to learn more about who they are, where they came from, how they got here. Crossing her fingers, she tells herself to stay calm and try not come off as overly awkward in the face of a planned social engagement.

She's already on edge by the time she reaches Claudia’s as she's running late from work. Thankfully, her anxiety lessens when Claudia hands her a beer.

“So, I’ve been told your Friday isn’t really a Friday because you work on Saturdays, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a beer, right?” Claudia shrugs her shoulders. "We’ve all just been twiddling our thumbs waiting for the pizza to arrive…..”

Claudia and Helena lean on the granite bar in the kitchen while Christina sits on a stool, drawing with a pen on a napkin, merrily swinging her feet.

Myka notes Helena is drinking seltzer, examines the beer in her own hand, then looks to Claudia quizzically.

“Oh, H.G. can't have beer tonight, it’ll put her _right_ to sleep.” Claudia slaps Helena on the back.

"Its a symptom of old age, so I’ve been told.” Helena's lips flatten and she raises a brow at Claudia.

“But you can’t be that old, right?” Myka eyes Helena studiously, wondering if her assessment of Helena’s age is somehow faulty.

“Well, I _am_ over thirty, which Christina says means I might as well be one hundred.” Helena reaches over and with a half-smile gives Christina's hair a tousle.

Christina beams up at Helena with a devilish grin.

Myka recognizes the tones flying around the room are playful and hopes to capitalize on them. "How old are you, Claudia?”

"I’m a baby compared to that one, thank you.” Claudia tosses her eyes in Helena’s direction. “Twenty-six,” she says primly.

"Yes, but Christina will always trump you in that respect, dearest.” Helena flutters her lashes and pinches Claudia’s cheeks. Claudia swats her away.

Myka looks confused. "But you went to college together?"

"Well, the genius over here started at sixteen, and I was what might be called in this country a _mature_ student. I believe that is why they threw us together so I could keep an eye on her.” Helena gives Claudia a firm but light-hearted eye.

"Oh, wise master, I’m not so sure _I’m_ the one that needed watching…..” Claudia bows comically toward Helena.

Helena lets out an exasperated sound.

Suddenly the buzzer rings and Christina yells “Pizza!”, hopping buoyantly off the stool, running speedily over to the door. Helena moves to join her.

Myka manages one more question before the evening shifts gears entirely.

“So where did you two go to college?"

Claudia absently mouths “Stanford” as she hungrily eyes the pizza. “Bring those puppies over here!!!” She motions heartily to the bar area, then swings around to fetch plates from a cabinet.

Myka’s eyes go wide. “California,” she thinks. “Of course, that picture in the living room. Definitely lemon tree."

Helena places the box she is carrying on the counter, then takes Christina’s and stacks it on top.

Claudia points to the logo on the box. “Have you had their pizza before, Myka?"

Myka tilts her head and eyes the box. "I can’t say that I have."

"Cajun style, hope you like it! They’ve been around for over twenty years……"

The group hovers around the bar as they eat, conversation focusing on pizza: who has the best pizza, where you can get the best cheap pizza, “fancy” pizza vs. “normal” pizza, etc. Claudia, Helena, and Christina all offer differing opinions.

Claudia then asks Myka what she thinks about pizza options in the neighborhood, and when Myka doesn’t have a definitive answer, Claudia quizzes her on exactly where she _has_ eaten, what she thought of each place, then suggests alternate venues she thinks Myka should try. Helena and Christina also merrily offer their opinions along the way.

Time passes quickly, and all too soon Helena must leave for work. She gives Christina a big hug and tells her to not let Aunt Claudia keep her up too late. She repeats the same thing to Claudia, but in reverse.

Myka decides that's her cue to leave as well. “I’ll walk out with you Helena, let me just get my bag."

Claudia disagrees, raising a hand. “Hold up there, princess….. _you_ aren’t going anywhere."

“Oh?” Myka’s eyebrows lift off of her head.

Claudia wags a finger between the two of them. “We need to chat.”

“Ummm, ok?"

“Claudia…..” Helena says with a hint of warning in her voice and a wary eye.

“Bye, H.G.” Claudia swings Helena around by the shoulders and pushes her toward the door.

“But…..” Helena throws her weight back, trying to resist, but Claudia has too much momentum.

“Bye, bye.” Claudia gives Helena one final thrust as she opens the door. Once Helena is on the other side, she waves with finality.

Helena turns to Myka, eyes full of desperation.

“Bye, Helena,” Myka says sweetly.

“Don’t let her keep you up…,” Helena blurts as Claudia swings the door shut.

“I won’t—“ Myka’s shoulders slump as she watches the door close, oddly feeling as if her mom just sent her best friend home.

Claudia moves into Myka personal space. “Five minutes, I promise.” She motions for Myka to move over to the couch.

“Christina!” Claudia shouts.

Christina runs over and stops just in front of Claudia wearing a silly grin.

“Go brush your teeth and wait for me in your room. I need to talk to Myka for a minute."

Christina pouts. “But I want to stay out here with you, it's not that late….”

Claudia lays a hand on Christina’s shoulder and squats down to look her in the eye. “Just give me five minutes pipsqueak, Ok? Maybe read one of those things made out of paper…..I dunno, a book?"

Christina makes a sour face at Claudia, “Ha. Ha. You are very funny - not!” She sticks out her tongue, then stomps toward the kitchen and into the bathroom.

Claudia swings around, clasping her hands in front of her while eyeing Myka enthusiastically.

“Myka….."

Myka sits up a little straighter, giving Claudia her full attention, feeling as if she’s about to get lectured for having done something wrong.

Claudia sits, and dives right in, “….see…look. _You_ are the best thing to happen to H.G. in a loooong time.” She points an accusatory finger at Myka and swoops it around in a circle.

Myka flinches back, eyes wide, lips parting slightly. "What? Me? Why?” She wonders how her misfortune and imposition upon Helena’s space could somehow be good for Helena.

Claudia squares her shoulders. "I’m gonna be blunt with you. She hasn’t cared for or about anyone or anything except Christina for ages. She’s been, like, floating in a void.” Claudia’s eyes float off into space while her hands, palms open, motion separately left and right.

Claudia’s visual demonstration prompts Myka to consider Helena's demeanor when she’s with Christina as opposed to when she’s not. Her mind travels back to the conversation in the bodega …...Helena said something to Hector about two years, then stated firmly that she was ok…...Claudia is obviously saying Helena is _not_ ok, but that Myka's presence is somehow helpful, though she’s unsure how.

“So what does that have to do with me?"

Claudia sits up straight, expression turning smug. "I can tell she likes you. Like— _likes you_ , likes you. I mean, she’s interested in you. You give her something to _do_."

“ _Do?_ ” Myka blurts out the word a little too loudly. Her mouth falls open, and her ears suddenly feel hot, slightly angered by the idea that she is a dalliance of some kind.

Claudia flinches at Myka's inflection and then narrows her eyes as she stares at Myka, recalculating her statement. She raises a finger. "Ok, maybe ‘do’ is the wrong word,” her eyes shift to the side as she mutters under her breath, “….for now…,” she looks back at Myka, "…...so let me rephrase that. The whole, you know ‘kaboom’ thing?” She throws her hands in the air, “….well I’m sorry about that, but it's what brought you two together. It reminded H.G. that, you know, she’s not the only one….....she could, like, relate to you because her whole life went ‘kaboom’ once."

Myka leans away from Claudia, sinking back into the couch, crossing her arms, equal parts offended and confused by Claudia’s words. She cocks her head and purses her lips, “Um, Ok….”

Claudia sees Myka’s not really following. "She told you about that already, right? The boat?”

"Well, she said she lost her family in a boating accident, that’s all I know."

Claudia’s expression morphs from serious into something bordering on amusement. “Ha— really.” She raises a hand to her mouth and looks to the side, tapping two fingers on her lips. “Interesting…..."

Abruptly sitting up straight, Claudia scoots back on the couch and leans forward, palms on thighs, arms locking straight as if bracing for impact. She takes in a deep breath. "What has she told you so far?"

Myka uncrosses her arms and lets them fall to her sides. “Well, nothing really. Between her job and my job we haven’t had much time to talk."

“Uh-huh. I see…..” Claudia looks down, licks her lips, and taps a foot as if formulating her next thought. “…but she leaves notes for you, right?"

"Um, yeah?” Myka tilts her head. "I kind of thought that must be a ‘thing’ she does."

“Hmm… “ Claudia pauses as she mulls over this information.

Myka hastily decides to use this lull in the conversation to throw out some questions that have been nagging her. "I— well, um, there are these pictures in the living room, but I mean they don’t add up to much….I couldn’t figure out anything about Helena’s life at all.” Deep lines begin to form between her brows. “And—and, by the way, why doesn’t she have any, like, personal stuff? Not that I’ve been snooping but I mean the apartment isn’t very private overall and…."

Claudia holds up her hands as if fending off an attacker. “Whoa, whoa—whoa—ho, boy, you two really need to talk. I didn’t realize you weren’t, like, _talking_ already. I mean you are talking, more than H.G. usually talks, but……"

Claudia is now babbling, Myka notes, so she shifts to a different strategy.

“OK, so maybe you can tell me this…..there’s a photo in the living room with the Grand Canyon in the background and Helena is, like, mock throwing herself over a cliff and Christina is mock holding her back, grinning at the camera. Did you take that picture?” Myka hopes describing something tangible will lead to fruitful information, even if Abigail wouldn’t approve.

“Indeed, I did. We stopped on our way to New York.” Claudia’s lips curl into a thoughtful smile. "I’ve been with them since the very beginning, you know. We created some brilliant stuff in college, H.G. and me, but truth be told, H.G. was never one hundred percent present…..,” her tone abruptly turns somber, “….until Christina. And that picture? It sums H.G. up to. the. tee. Without that little girl to hold her back, she’d have already thrown herself off.” Her expression displays a gravity not previously present.

“W—what?” Myka’s eyes slowly widen until nearly bulging and her head pulls back as she considers the dire consequences of what Claudia just said. “Why?” She sits up uncomfortably straight.

Claudia, confused by Myka’s reaction, suddenly sucks in a sharp breath as her brows fly up. “OH……oh— no…wait…..NO—, “ she lifts off the couch slightly, reaching out with one hand as if to stop Myka’s thoughts. “I—I meant _figuratively_. Like disappearing, taking off, not….err…..you know. She’d never…..."

Myka lets out a breath, visibly relaxing, but her eyes stay wide.

Claudia settles back into her seat. “Ugh, sorry, that was stupid. I keep forgetting you don’t know her that well, yet.” Her snappy tone returns. "So, ok, seriously…..get H.G. a little tipsy and she’ll tell you everything. Actually for you, she’d probably do it without the booze. But you? _You_ might need the booze."

Myka grimaces questioningly.

"It's not my place to tell you her stories..….but once you get a few things out of her let me know I can fill in any gaps, Ok?" Claudia gives a suggestive wink.

"I thought you said she doesn’t drink?” Myka’s tone edges on exasperation as she’s thoroughly flustered with this conversation.

Claudia waves a hand back and forth, brows raised, “No, no, no, she does, just not before working the night shift, because, you know…..Zzzzzz.” Claudia tips her head over while closing her eyes as if nodding off.

Myka stares blankly at Claudia as she lets out a heavy and resigned sigh. She’s had it with tonight. It’s time to leave. She rises, gathers her things, then walks toward the door.

Claudia follows and places a firm hand on Myka’s shoulder before she exits. “One last thing, princess……it’d be really great if you could keep up the, uh, 'damsel in distress' thing for just a _wee_ bit longer. I think H.G. really digs it…..."

\----------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To view a few of Myka’s collage of Dewy from this week click [here](http://beatricethecat2.tumblr.com/mykas_sketches) and scroll down
> 
> Next up: Myka finally gets to talk to Abigail and a plumbing emergency has unexpected consequences.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka spends some time with an old friend, and finally gets to talk to Abigail. A smattering Myka backstory ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Chapters 9 and 10 are going up simultaneously.

```````````````````

> _“Most cities are nouns, but New York is a verb.”_  
>  —Cloud Atlas

```````````````````

Myka's weekend passes quickly. She works all day Saturday, and has plans to spend Sunday with her metalsmith friend Amanda, who is in town for a conference. 

Sunday morning she agonizes over whether or not to somehow inform Helena she’ll be out all day. Helena is fast asleep, having worked the night shift, so there is no way of knowing what she and Christina have on their agenda for their day. While she doesn’t want to _assume_ she’d be a part of Helena's plans, she’s sad to miss the opportunity to join Helena and Christina for brunch, if they are having brunch, at Claudia’s. And she doesn't want Helena to think she's avoiding them altogether. She decides the most logical course of action is leave a note, thinking that's what Helena would do.

  


_Helena,_

_I just wanted to say I won’t be back until late tonight......a friend is in town that I made plans with ages ago. I hope you have a wonderful day with Christina, and that our paths will cross tomorrow._

_Please have a restful Sunday!_

_-Myka_

  


She tries to make the sentiment personal, but not too mushy….hoping not to sound overly lovelorn or coldly pragmatic. Wearing a self-satisfied smile, she tapes the note to the sink, knowing Helena will have no problem finding it there when she wakes.

Before leaving for the day she peeks in at Helena, and is pleased that she seems to be sleeping peacefully. She has the passing thought to cancel her plans with Amanda, to stay and see where the day takes her, but she knows Amanda will insist they meet up anyway. Taking one last wistful look, she turns, gathers her things, and walks out the door.

\-----------------

Her day is a whirlwind of activity and she arrives back at Helena's apartment late, well after everyone is asleep. Tiptoeing into the room, she removes her coat and sets down her bag, crawling onto bed fully clothed.

She lies stiff, eyes wide open, ruminating over the day, deciding her visit with Amanda and Amanda's friends was at once oddly familiar yet completely unsettling. At a certain point, she felt as if she'd reverted to a previous version of her herself, traveled back to a time before Helena, before the explosion, before New York. She tries to shake the feeling off, telling herself to worry about it tomorrow, to just stop thinking get some sleep.

\-----------------

A groggy hello and goodbye is the only overlap Myka has with Helena and Christina Monday morning. Rising later than usual, she begins her regular routine like clockwork. She places the kettle on the stove, turns on the knob and is shocked when the burner lights on its own. She notes a shiny new stovetop espresso maker drying in the dish rack, and the electrical socket near the sink has been replaced with a new one. She plugs in the iron and feels giddy when it turns on. The creaky window to the street now moves smoothly up and down, and in the bedroom she finds a brand new hair dryer, complete with a note.

“For the lady."

A silly grin takes over every inch of her sleepy face as she beams at the paper.

\-----------------------------------------

Much to Myka’s surprise, Abigail calls mid-afternoon.

“Abigail?"

“Myka!"

"How are you?"

"I’d like to never, ever again talk about _anything_ related to representational structures, computational procedures, or behavioral models. Or neuroscience. Ever. Actually, let's just not mention brains at all.....” Abigail says with distress.

"OK….."

"Tell me about you, Myka. Tell me _allll_ about you."

"Well, I hung out with Amanda yesterday…” Myka sounds almost sheepish relaying this to Abigail.

“ _Really_ — and how was _that_?” Abigail scoffs. "Did she talk your ear off about how well she’s doing with her jewelry and weird sculptures?”

“Um….yeah. I mean she was here for a conference because she was giving a lecture on her, uh, 'weird sculptures'.”

"Did she even ask how you were doing, or just talk about herself the whole time?” Abigail doesn’t hide her contempt for the woman one bit.

Myka rubs the back of her neck. "Uh, well....we did stop by the site of the explosion, she wanted to see that……and we went shopping and to some museums, then met some of her friends in Brooklyn later. And I stayed out _way_ too late though I have been going to bed at, like, nine lately.” She chuckles.

"But did she ask how you were _doing_?” Abigail says gruffly.

“Uh…,” Myka has to think about this for a moment, “…not exactly. In, like, those words.” Her shoulders slump.

"Honestly, Myka I don’t know why you give her the time of day. All she ever does is drag you around like an accessory.” Myka imagines Abigail rolling her eyes.

"I know she can be a bit much sometimes but she, like, has really good taste in clothes and knows a lot of people. It’s like I can go out and do the social stuff I’m probably supposed to do without actually having to actually participate.…she introduces me to people and I can just stand there while she talks. It’s, like, schmoozing by proxy. And she’s not that bad, she’s just a little….strong-willed.” Myka tries to sound convincing.

“Obnoxious is more like it. Domineering……..”

Myka can feel Abigail’s disdain over the phone.

Abigail changes the subject. “….so you called last week.”

“Uh, yeah, that was about Helena. But I think I figured it out." Myka smiles to herself. 

Abigail does not agree. “Um, Myka, I’m sorry, but no."

“No, what?” Myka says innocently.

“I’m sure you _think_ you’ve figured whatever it is out but I’d like all the facts before I make a judgment on that. Just start from the beginning and tell me everything that’s happened since we last talked."

"Ok….."

Myka runs through the week, highlighting the events of Wednesday night minus the hand holding. She’d like to get Abigail’s unbiased opinion of the events, and, therefore, isn’t sure she’s ready to tell Abigail about her newly discovered feelings for Helena just yet.

“So what about dinner on Friday, did you learn anything new?"

Myka shakes her head. "Not much, really. Helena and Claudia went to Stanford together; Helena is over thirty, and Claudia is twenty-six. And I learned a lot about pizza and other food in the neighborhood. Oh and, and beer puts Helena to sleep....." Myka trails off, a lazy smile growing on her face.

“Stanford, huh? Well, that’s new info."

"Yeah….” Myka says a little too dreamily. Lost in the thought of a peacefully sleeping Sunday morning Helena, she barely registers Abigail’s response.

“Myka, you are _sooo_ into this woman.” Abigail warbles her “o".

“Um, yeah,” Myka mouths absently, before catching herself and leveling her voice, “I mean, well, she’s interesting, yeah.” How could Abigail know she's attracted to Helena? She only figured it out recently, and the whole thing makes her nervous.

Abigail pushes on. “I mean you are, like, totally _smitten_. You do see that right?"

Myka apprehensively bites her lip, not knowing how to respond properly.

"Have you ever had a crush on a woman before?” 

Myka sighs. “Abbs, I majored in library science in Colorado. Hardly a subject that would cause anyone to question the boundaries of their sexuality."

“Yeah, but college is college, Myka. And you know, _libraries_ …..all those late night study sessions and hormones flying around….."

“—library science isn’t just about libraries, Abbs—,” Myka snips.

Abigail ignores Myka completely, “…..but there _must_ have been a seed of non-conformity brewing in that nerdy skull of yours….."

“—I’m not saying I didn’t have an open mind—"

“….because you ended up going to graduate school for for something totally bohemian _and_ non-employable: _fine art_."

Myka purses her lips and huffs out a breath through her nose. “I mean, grad school, for me, wasn’t an excuse to act like a naive undergrad and fool around. That's _not_ why I was there."

“No you really didn't, did you. You were very, ahem, _studious_ ,” Abigail says with certainty _and_ humor.

Myka feels her ears reddening and almost lashes out, but holds her tongue.

“So what you’re saying, Myka, is that you’ve never thought about it?"

“Have you?” Myka barks out, suddenly becoming defensive but not knowing why.

“Of course! I mean I do study behavioral science. I can't help testing the limits of my own brain……” Abigail's train of thought hangs for a moment, "Myka, I said brain! Don’t make me do that…."

Myka’s brows furrow deeply as she chews on a finger. “But, Abbs, have you ever, like….you know, acted on those feelings?"

Abigail sighs. “Myka, _that_ is a conversation to be had late one evening over cocktails. Right now we are focusing on _you_ so lets get back to it. Have _you_ ever felt attracted to another woman."

“Before now?"

“HA! So you admit it. You _are_ attracted to Helena. I _knew_ it…."

“Yeah Abbs, Ok, yeah….”

"So what about before now? Any ladies you’ve had your eye on…..” Abigail's voice is suggestive.

“Uhhh.., I dunno, maybe once or twice….."

The conversation pauses, then Abigail jumps back in. “Wait, Myka, don’t tell me one of them is Amanda."

“ _What?_ No."

“Myka…..you’re lying."

Myka doesn’t respond.

“Myka….."

“Ok, maybe.” Myka drops her head into her hand and grimaces."Ahhhh….fine. Ok, yeah, Amanda. But, like, not anymore.”

“Myka, no. Just….. _nooo_. That’s wrong. So. Wrong. You know she just strings people along…."

“I know, Abbs. _I know_."

“ _GOOD_. Good. "

Myka tries to move the topic away from Amanda. “I mean, listen, it's not like I was ever boy crazy like my sister, Tracy. Or I guess girl crazy if we're taking that route though maybe I am now? Come to think of it I’ve never been crazy about, well, people, in general. I’d rather not have to deal with them at all."

“Hmm, perhaps that’s why your previous relationships lacked _luster_."

“— _Hey_ , Sam and I had, uh, _luster_."

“No, Myka, you had safety and an attractive facade. It’s not the same."

“ _Abigail!_ "

“Seriously Myka, what you had was very loving but predictable, _safe_. Which is nothing to sneeze at yes but from what you’ve told me, I don’t think he ever understood the _real_ you. Everyone gushed over how good you two looked together, which was flattering and all, and you were _comfortable_ , but you weren’t a perfect match. And you _knew_ that in your heart. You _tried_ to make it work, even lulled yourself into thinking you were happy, but ultimately you knew you two weren’t on the same page moving forward. There is no shame in recognizing something like that before it's too late to turn back."

Abigail takes a breath.

"You once told me making a clean break with Sam was one of the hardest decisions you've ever made, that after much deliberation you chose graduate school over following him to Iowa. Why do you think you did that?"

"Uh….” Myka's head is spinning. How did this conversation become serious so quickly? She thinks she’d rather go back to talking about her crushes on unobtainable women.

"That was a _rhetorical_ question, Myka, because I _know_ you know the answer."

“Ok?” Myka’s not convinced.

Abigail sighs. "Do you remember when we first started hanging out, that night after Ted's opening, we went to a bar on the west side and got so drunk neither one of us could drive? _Then_ we learned there was no public transportation in Providence, Rhode Island after midnight, and didn’t have a number for a cab, so we decided to walk? You pretty much spilled your guts to me that night, Myka, told me all of your hopes and dreams, then went on to talk all about Chicago and Sam. And as we crossed the bridge over Highway I-95, you waved your hand dismissively and declared, 'I know there is more out there for me than this.’"

Myka closes her eyes tightly. “Remind me to never get that drunk around you again, Abigail."

"Myka you _never_ get that drunk around anyone, _ever_. Looking back I am thoroughly honored to have been witness to your extraordinary sloppiness that night. And listen, if I ever finish my Ph.D., you are taking me out and we are getting _wasted_."

Myka sniggers.

“OK, back on topic…...I don’t think I’ve _ever_ heard you be as honest with yourself as you were that night. The Myka hiding inside of you came pouring out; the one with all the ambition and passion, the one not masked behind competence. You said you wanted something different, something _challenging_. And you made it to New York…..so cut yourself some slack. Go with the flow. Maybe this woman, this _Helena_ , no matter what happens with her, is a gateway to something new. Losing your stuff was a _huge_ tragedy, I know, but perhaps you can find a way to make it an asset. Think of it as a chance to start over, to channel the Myka you were the night of our drunken walk."

There is a pregnant silence while Myka processes all of this.

"Oh and speaking of stuff, you know you still have some you were storing at my apartment, right? You should come and check it out."

The mood lightens as the conversation shifts to matters of the present. Myka sets up a time to visit Abigail over the weekend, and then says her goodbyes. She continues her day with a head full of memories and possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myka made a collage on Saturday of the plant she gave to Helena: to view it click [here](http://beatricethecat2.tumblr.com/mykas_sketches) and scroll down
> 
> Next up: A plumbing emergency has unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant, consequences.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plumbing emergency has unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant, consequences.

```````````````````

> _“A city isn’t so unlike a person. They both have the marks to show they have many stories to tell. They see many faces. They tear things down and make new again.”_  
>  ― Rasmenia Massoud, Broken Abroad

```````````````````

Much to Myka’s chagrin, Helena and Christina arrive shortly before bedtime on Monday. There is quite a commotion the minute they step in the door as Christina needs to find a book for school, and she’s not sure if it is in the apartment or at Claudia’s. Claudia is on speakerphone while everyone searches in between cushions and underneath furniture. The object is finally found, and Christina crawls under the sofa bed to retrieve it. As she travels to her room to put it in her book bag, Helena slumps onto the corner armchair and exhales so dramatically it sounds as if she’s deflating.

Helena looks up at Myka, who has been watching her with concern from the sofa bed. “I’m terribly sorry for our chaotic entrance and thank you for helping us locate the errant book. Oh, and before I forget, I switched shifts and will be working late Wednesday night, as Christina has a martial arts tournament Friday evening from five to seven. She’ll be staying at Claudia’s Wednesday night. I wouldn’t want you to think the two of us had gone missing…..” She flashes a tired smile.  
Myka blurts out, “Can I cook you both dinner on Friday?” The thought wasn’t planned in advance, so the invitation comes out awkwardly. Before Helena has a chance to answer, Myka lists her schedule for the week. “Tomorrow and Thursday I have to work late, and I’m going up to Providence on Sunday and Monday to sort through some things I’d left at my friend Abigail’s. It’s not much, a few boxes and some paintings, but it is something. She’s going to drive it all down and help me move into my new place next week.” This is way more information than she meant to relay, and now that she’s said it all out loud, the reality of moving into a new apartment next week is quite daunting.

Myka thinks her anxiety must be showing, as the look Helena gives her is bittersweet.

“That would be lovely Myka, thank you. Christina will be _thrilled._ ” Helena’s tone softens. “And I’m glad to hear you have a few things left of your own somewhere in out there in the world.“

—————————–

Myka stays late at the gallery Tuesday night to sort out her eminent future. She’ll need some basic necessities like a bed and furniture right away and wants to do some research plus check her bank account before making a final decision on anything. Her temporary promotion at work has given her a nice salary bump, but she will still be in the red after her move. Her parents eventually did try to help by sending her a small sum of money, but it was out of guilt, the underlying logic being they’d just bought new carpeting for Tracy and thought they should give Myka something too. She almost ripped up the check when it came, but decided against it at the last minute.

—————————–

Wednesday passes without much fuss. Myka heads home a little later than usual from work, and upon entering the apartment is assaulted with words.

"Bollocks!”

“Mom……“

“Helena?!”

“—Myka?“

Helena and Christina’s attention swings toward Myka, who has just walked in the door.

Myka surveys the scene: Helena is kneeling in the tub, soaking wet but fully clothed, holding on tightly to a faucet knob with both hands. Christina is standing by the kitchen sink, flashlight in hand.

Helena puts on a diplomatic tone. "Hello, Myka. Sorry……could you give us a hand?”

“Sure.“ Myka immediately puts down her bags and hurries over.

"I need you to turn off the spigot under the sink. Christina tried, but I don’t think she quite has the strength.” Helena motions with her head toward Christina.

"Christina, help Myka, you can hold the flashlight.”

“Ok!“

Myka and Christina both kneel down and peek into the cabinet. Christina points the flashlight to the correct knob, and Myka reaches in, managing to turn it slowly.

"Ok, that’s as far as it will go,” Myka announces from inside the cabinet.

Myka and Christina crawl out from under the sink and Myka hits her head. “Ow!” Christina giggles and Myka throws her a playfully crooked smirk as she rubs her head. They both rise and step over to the tub.

Back facing Myka, Helena eases off the pressure on the faucet knob. Water sprays out, hitting Helena in the face, then slows, seeping from around the edges and eventually stops entirely. Helena takes a deep breath and her body sinks down, head touching hand on the spigot.

As Helena leans forward, her wet white tank top stretches thin on her back. Myka sees the hint of an formidable scar poking out of the neckline on her left shoulder. Another smaller, but still prominent, scar is present on the back of her upper right arm. It’s profile looks timeworn, weathered, and Myka is tempted to reach out and trace its path. She wonders when and where Helena could have been hurt so badly, then remembers Claudia saying Helena’s life once went “kaboom” and thinks the scars must be related to the boating accident. Catching herself gawking, she promptly turns her attention toward Christina, who is eagerly waiting for her next job from Helena.  
Helena releases her grip on the spigot and leans back. “Christina, could you please get the toolbox from under my bed?”

“On it!” Christina rushes off into the bedroom and slides under Helena’s bed.

Helena twists around to face Myka. Water droplets stream from her hair down her face, her eyes flash a mix of panic and exhaustion.

“Thank you, Myka…..I’m sorry to be in crisis mode first thing in the door, again.” Helena squeezes her eyes shut and wipes her hand over the left, then the right side of her face to remove the dripping water.

Myka stands staring, captivated by Helena’s exquisite physique, the way her muscles glisten as her arm flexes, her long, work-worn fingers sensually running roughshod over her face. She nearly melts as the reality of Helena’s soaking wet, see-through tank top hits her. She tries to look away but finds she can’t.

Myka can barely form words. “It’s, uh, ok, really. Um, can I help?“

Helena grips the side of the tub, blinks several times while squinting, then eyes Myka up and down, "Christina and I can manage as I wouldn’t want your pretty work clothes to get soiled, but if you could hover nearby, we may need your assistance.”

“I’m back!” Christina announces upon arrival, carrying a beat up and quite heavy looking red toolbox.

Helena twists even more to view Christina. "Thank you, dearest. Can you hand me a screwdriver and some pliers?”

Christina sets down the box and opens it, then pulls out the items and hands them to her mother.  
Myka chirps in, “Ah, shouldn’t the like, super do this?’

Christina and Helena simultaneously flash Myka identical “you must be kidding” looks.

Helena explains. “As Claudia might say, there are many levels of ‘no’ to that statement. We try to keep a low profile overall, but if we waited for Javier, we’d certainly be showerless for weeks. We are quite lucky that someone takes out the trash regularly.“

Myka nods, and silently vows to observe and ask no further questions. She watches with interest as Helena removes the knob and unscrews various parts.

"Christina, can you hand me the shower socket wrench? You remember, it’s the round metal tube thing with the hex head and a hole on the side on either end?”

Christine rifles through the box. “Got it!“ She hands it to Helena.

Helena slips the tool into the wall, over the protruding spindle. She places a screwdriver into the hole on the wrench and attempts to turn it.

Myka stands at the ready, completely engrossed by the proceedings, thoroughly impressed by the sight of mother and daughter working together seamlessly. Heart racing, she’s unsure if it’s beating more in anticipation the wrench turning or at the sight of Helena in action. She admits to herself Helena is so undeniably _hot_ right now, back muscles straining, arms tensing, pressing, face pinching in concentration as water slowly trails down her face and off of her chin. A surge of arousal hits Myka in a way she’s never felt before……she can’t recall _ever_ having this visceral of a reaction to the sight of another person. She thinks to herself there must be some truth in what they say about women hitting their sexual peak later in life than men.

Myka startles when the wrench moves a tiny bit. From her angle of view, she sees the end of Helena’s lip curl and the corner of her eye lift as her body stills.

“Bloody hel…..er…Christina, love, come and help me turn this?” Myka decides the hint of urgency in Helena’s voice is definitely feigned.

Christina rushes over and climbs into the tub. She earnestly places her little hands over Helena’s big hands, and they turn the wrench together. Myka thinks this is easily most endearing sight she’s ever seen and falls in love with the two of them just a little bit more.  
Helena and Christina manage to remove the part, and suddenly there is a flurry of activity.

“Myka, can you hold this?” Helena’s hand flys back, and Myka takes the crusty object recently removed from the wall.

"Christina, find a rubber washer that fits that and hand me the flashlight.” Christina jumps out of the tub, hands Helena the flashlight, and roots through the toolbox again. Myka leans down to show her the part.

“Christina, hand me the seat dresser….” Myka hands Christina the part she’s been holding, and Christina gives Myka a tool that looks like a screw with a handle that has round grinding teeth on the bottom. Myka passes it on to Helena, thinking it’s quite an odd looking thing.

Helena takes the item and mumbles under her breath, “Bloody ancient plumbing…..”

“Myka can you locate a dishtowel?“

“Sure.” Myka grabs a dishtowel off of the stove and passes it to Helena.

Helena removes the towel from Myka’s hand and replaces it with a flashlight. “Hold it right…. _there_.” Myka leans over the tub and Helena grabs Myka’s wrist, positioning the flashlight where she needs it to be.

Myka’s skin tingles at Helena’s touch, and she thinks to herself she’s _way_ to close to Helena for comfort right now.

"Found it mom!”

“Lovely, dear. You know what to do.“

Helena proceeds to use the tool to do something inside the wall and then stuffs the dishtowel in the hole.

Christina leans over the side of the tub and hands Helena the part, along with some sort of tape.

Helena smiles wildly at Christina. “There’s my girl! Thank you. All right, here we go…..”

Helena wraps the tape around the threads of the part, removes the dishtowel and screws the spindle back into the wall, securing it with the socket wrench from earlier.

“Ok Myka, can you turn the water back on under the sink?”

Myka moves to the sink, kneels down, reaches in, and turns the spigot to the left. “Ok, it’s turned as far as it will go.“

Helena places the shower knob temporary back on the spindle, then turns it to check her handiwork. “Sorted!” she declares triumphantly, then reassembles the rest of the faucet pieces. Once complete, she hands Christina the tools and Christina takes the toolbox back into Helena’s room to put it away.  
Helena attempts to stand, but wobbles and Myka lurches, extending a hand to help.

Helena takes Myka’s hand and steps cautiously out of the tub and onto the floor. She stands still for a moment, hoping to regain her balance, and finds herself face to face with Myka, hand in hand. Their eyes meet, and Helena apologetically states, “I’m truly sorry about all of this. I took a shower and the faucet sort of, well, exploded. Christina had to rush me over some clothes.”

Myka looks down, briefly examining Helena’s clothes, eyes leaping back up at the sight of Helena’s _completely_ translucent tank top.

“I—I’m just lucky it was you in there. If it were me, I’m not sure what I’d have done.” Myka holds Helena’s gaze as she throws her a thankful smile. Her attention drifts and she finds herself lingering on Helena’s parted her lips, eyes soon wandering to consider a smudge of grease under Helena’s eye.

“You have a—, “ reaching up, she passes her thumb tenderly over Helena’s cheek, carefully wiping away the dirt. Her hand stills as she glances back, noting Helena’s eyes are now focused rather intensely on her lips.

Myka’s fingers trail down, gently raking over Helena’s ear and rest lightly cupping Helena’s jaw, thumb running delicately over Helena’s bottom lip. She tugs effortlessly on Helena’s hand, falling forward as if gravity suddenly increased, completely unable to resist the primal need for Helena’s touch.

Helena’s lips inch forward but stop abruptly just short of contact. Her breath glides warm and fast over Myka’s lips as she whispers, "I have to go.”

They stand frozen for several seconds, millimeters apart. Completely crestfallen, Myka closes her eyes and reluctantly releases Helena’s jaw, then drops Helena’s hand. Taking a step back, her eyes stay on the floor, heart pounding, breath coming in waves.

“Right.”

She chances a look at Helena, who is staring at her with fervor; eyes glowing with desire and _want_ , but holding an underlying sadness that causes Myka's heart to ache.  
“Christina, please clean up and get ready. We’ll need to leave soon for Aunt Claudia’s.” Helena’s gaze stays fixedly on Myka while speaking to Christina, who is standing nearby.

“Ok, mom,” Christina says flatly, without a fuss.

“She doesn’t have to go, you know.”

Helena’s mouth closes and her brows meet in question.

“She can stay. I mean I’ll be here. I can even drop her off at school in the morning if that’s ok with you.” Myka prays Helena will trust her with Christina after, well, whatever just happened.

Helena’s eyes narrow, but then marginally brighten. “Really? Would that be alright?”

“Of course.” Myka smiles shakily but sweetly, feeling a wave of relief. “If it’s ok with Christina.” Myka turns to Christina.

“I’d like to stay with Myka, mom,” Christina says without hesitation.

“Well, alright then.” Helena’s tone softens, the tension in the air having subsided for now.

“I’ll let Claudia know Christina is staying here with me.” Myka looks at Helena with understanding. “You go get ready, I know you have to go.”

Helena’s eyes suddenly close and she drops her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

Myka instinctively steps forward and lays a hand on Helena’s upper arm, running it reassuringly up and down.

“Are you ok? You don’t seem ok.” Myka tilts her head and tries to gain Helena’s attention.

Helena breathes in deeply, then exhales and looks up. “It’s just...been a rather long day. I’ll live, but thank you for asking.”  
Helena glances at Myka’s hand on her arm then takes it into her own. “You are a lifesaver, Myka. Thank you.” She lifts Myka’s hand up to her lips and places a soft, deep, sensuous kiss on the back, all the while eyeing Myka with warm reverence.

Myka’s knees nearly buckle. She tries hard not to swoon.

Helena gently releases Myka’s hand and walks off into the bedroom.

Focused solely on Helena, Myka doesn’t register the feeling of Christina tugging on her shirt right away. She glances at Christina, who is looking up at her as if she can’t hold in what she has to say any longer. She crouches down to address Christina at her own height.

Christina leans over and whispers in Myka’s ear. “You almost kissed my mom.”

Myka’s eyes widen as she panics just a little, but immediately pulls herself together and whispers back, “I did?” Was Christina standing there the whole time? Did she see the whole thing? Myka really hopes she didn’t see the whole thing.

“Yeah, you did.”

Myka thinks Christina is all of eight, how could she know? “Um, how do you know?”

Christina looks at Myka as if she’s not understanding anything she’s saying. “Because I’ve _seen_ mom kissing before.” She says this as if everyone should know it as fact.

“Oh, really?” Myka feels a surge of jealousy over this unknown person who managed to actually kiss Helena in front of Christina. Then she feels guilty thinking that.

“Yeah. Really.”

“Um…..recently?“ Myka can’t believe she’s asking this, but it slips out of her mouth. Damnit Abigail, putting ideas in her idea about getting information out of the kid.

“When I was littler, but not for awhile.” Christina’s tone is very earnest.

“Oh, Ok.” Myka is totally mortified that she just asked that but also relieved to hear whomever it was that Helena kissed, it wasn’t recent.

“I think my mom likes you more than she liked Giselle, anyway,” Christina says this with a head tilt and an underlying confidence that Myka’s not sure an eight-year-old should have when it comes to matters of the heart.

“Um, really? Ok, thanks, I think. But…..how do you know?” Myka mentally kicks herself….Abigail’s inquiring mind is taking over, again.

“She looks at you a lot when you’re not looking at her. And you look at her when she’s not looking, too. I noticed.” Christina gives a self-satisfied nod.

Myka feels a flush of embarrassment at the truth in this. She didn’t think anyone would notice, but this little girl isn’t just anyone. Maybe she can rationalize with her.

"Maybe you just didn’t notice with, uh, Giselle because you were littler…..”

“I dunno, it’s all different now. Mom is different now.”

There’s a pause as Myka feels tongue-tied; she has no idea how to respond to this.

“Myka, do you like my mom?“ Christina asks candidly.

"I do. I mean in a— she’s really nice.” Myka doesn’t know how many times her heart can melt in one night.

"Then I think you should kiss her,” Christina says this so matter-of-factly and with such sincerity in her eyes that Myka is tempted to march into the bedroom and kiss Helena senseless right now.

“Um, ok, I’ll uh, think about that.”

“Good. Because I like you, too.“ She gives Myka a big hug, and Helena emerges from the bedroom, a little dryer overall, wearing her work regalia.

"I really do have to go, will you two be all right?” her eyes dart between Myka and Christina.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to Claudia. Really, we’ll be fine.” Myka looks down at Christina, who smiles up at her a little too smugly.

“Thank you Myka, again you are a lifesaver.” Helena steps toward Myka, as if to pull her into a hug, but hesitates, then moves on to gather her things to leave.

Myka smiles weakly as Helena walks out the door. “Please, try not to work too hard.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much the last of the plot threads I'll be throwing out (I think - maybe some little ones are left)....the following chapters should start a slow descent into plot resolution. Somehow there is still a lot to explain though, I know!
> 
> Next up: Myka drops off Christina at school and is unprepared for who she meets. More lively Abigail conversation and Myka cooks dinner for H+C.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka’s Thursday and Friday are packed full of worries, surprises and planned events, but somehow she manages to get through it all in one piece.

`````````````````````````

> “London is satisfied, Paris is resigned, but New York is always hopeful. Always it believes that something good is about to come off, and it must hurry to meet it.”  
>  ― Dorothy Parker

`````````````````````````

Thursday morning Myka rises early to help Christina prepare for school. Everyone is fed, including Dewy, and clothed; then lunches are made and backpacks are packed. After all is said and done, Myka finds herself fairly useless in the process and thinks Christina could easily do it all on her own. 

Myka looks in on Helena one last time before leaving, grimacing deeply at the sight. Helena seems so small, she thinks, so _compact_ , almost childlike as she lies passed out, fully clothed again, curled up in a ball. Deciding to cover her with a blanket, Myka tugs the hem lovingly up and over Helena’s shoulders then runs a hand lightly through her tresses. She's seriously tempted to climb in next to her, hug her tightly, and whisper in her ear "everything's going to be all right”.

\---------------

Christina’s school is a straight shot north from Helena’s apartment and the walk passes quickly. Christina excitedly spews anecdotes along the way: she met a three-legged dog here, ate a sandwich once there, stopped for waffles and dinges “which means, like, extra stuff you put top” on the corner, and saw a man on that stoop wearing a rabbit costume on a day that was _not_ Halloween, though her mom told her not to stare and keep walking.

”She has _such_ a good memory,” Myka thinks as she smiles to herself, “Just like me."

They reach the school and ascend the stairs, then enter the lobby. Other adults and children arrive, several greeting Christina as they pass. There is a table near the back manned by school staff where students and their guardians check in. Christina shows Myka were to sign, and they take a few steps away from the table. Myka crouches down to address Christina at her level.

“I really liked you walking me to school today, Myka. It was fun telling you stories!” Christina gives Myka a hug.

“I had fun too. You have a good day ok, and I’ll see you later?” Myka gives Christina's backpack straps a tug.

“I’m staying over at my friend Erica’s tonight.” Christina gives a head tilt, her inflection implying Myka should have already known this fact.

“Oh, ok then. I guess I’ll see you Friday. Good luck at your tournament!” Myka suddenly wonders if she somehow _should_ have already known this fact.

“Thanks!” Christina’s demeanor turns back into that of a carefree eight-year-old.

Christina raises her head to address someone standing behind Myka. “Hi, Miss Morales."

“Hello, Christina.”

From the deep tone and timbre of the woman’s voice, Myka assumes she’s an older school administrator or teacher, someone obviously familiar with Christina.

“Where’s your mom today?"

“She had to work. This is Myka; she walked me to school."

Myka rises, then spins around and is shocked to find the woman is much younger than her voice implied. Approximately the same build but a little shorter than Myka, she rocks a mid-priced pantsuit as if it were a designer label. Her golden brown hair is styled in a long elegant braid that falls over her right shoulder. She has flawless pale light brown skin and wears little makeup, her eyes a mesmerizing shade of light of grey, somewhere approaching lavender.

Myka suddenly wishes her hair wasn't frizzing out of control and that she was wearing something other than crumpled up jeans and a shapeless sweater under her trench coat. Maybe her glasses make her look a tiny bit reputable, she thinks.

“Hello, Myka.” Miss Morales gives her a once over and extends a hand. “I’m Vice-Principal Morales."

“Myka Bering, nice to meet you.” Myka gives a bright and polite smile but thinks something must be amiss as Miss Morales’ firm handshake goes on for a fraction too long.

“So you’re a friend of Helena’s? I haven’t seen you around before.” Her tone is cordial but suspect.

“We met recently; she’s letting me stay at her place until I can move into my new apartment.” Myka thinks this sounds kind of sketchy and imagines Miss Morales has already categorized her: "Homeless drifter forced to drop off acquaintance's daughter in exchange for lodgings."

Miss Morales arches a perfect brow. “I see. Well, I make it a habit of getting to know new faces when they come in, to insure the kids are safe."

“I _totally_ understand,” Myka fills her words with as much respect as possible. Miss Morales’ stern tone is beginning to make her very nervous.

“Myka’s really cool, Miss Morales, she’s an artist!” Christina chimes in enthusiastically.

"Is that so Myka?” Miss Morales eyes Myka with renewed but reserved interest.

“Um, yeah.” Great, Myka thinks. Now her title has changed to “Homeless drifter _and_ artist....." Just golden.

A woman holding a clipboard comes up behind Miss Morales and relays a message. “There’s a call for you on line three; it's the superintendent….."

“I’ll be right there.” She turns to Christina, “You should get to class, but tell your mother I said hello."

“OK Gisel--, I mean Miss Morales. Bye, Myka!” Christina gives a little wave and speeds off to class.

“It was very nice to meet you Myka and good luck with your new apartment.”

The infinitesimal amount of sincerity Myka thinks she hears in Giselle's voice does nothing to quell the urge she has to hyperventilate on the spot.

“It was, uh, nice to meet you too, Miss Morales and thank you.” Myka gives a tiny nod.

Giselle nods austerely in return and takes her leave.

Myka turns and quickly exits the building. She stops just outside and throws her hand over her mouth, eyes going wide. _That_ was really not necessary this morning, she thinks. _That_ was too much.

She walks in a stupor down the avenue toward Helena’s apartment, spontaneously deciding to duck into a cafe. She orders a coffee and yogurt even though she’s already eaten and settles into a table, emailing Abigail immediately.

 

_Abbs,_

_Its too early to call but I really really REALLY need to talk to you, are you free around lunchtime? I have to stay late for an opening tonight, but this can't wait until then anyway._

_Lemme know._

_Myka_

 

She hits send and sits limp, occasionally stirring her yogurt, mind re-playing the events of last night and this morning, not knowing how to process any of it.

Giving up any hope of resolving anything right now, she makes her way back to the apartment to dress for work.

Surprisingly, upon arrival, Helena is gone, soiled work clothes lying in a heap on the floor by her bed. Less surprisingly, there is a hastily and shakily scribbled note taped to the rolling rack where most of Myka's clothes now live.

 

_M-_

_Thank you again for taking care of C, I hope you both got to school all right._

_FYI - C is staying at Steve and Liam's tonight._

_Looking forward to dinner on Friday!_

_-H_

 

“Oh, Helena,” Myka sighs disparagingly, then readies herself for work.

\------------------------

Lunchtime arrives, and Myka dashes out of the gallery, deciding to call Abigail from a park nearby even though it is a bit nippy outside.

As the phone rings, Myka quietly mutters “pick up, pick up, pick up…” and plops down on a bench, chewing on a nail.

“Myka?"

"Abbs, thank God—"

"Whats wrong?"

Myka unknowingly stands and begins to pace. "Abbs, I—I almost kissed her. Last night— I don’t know what happened. Then Christina said I _should_ kiss her, and I think I met her ex-girlfriend this morning, at—at Christina’s school…....” Her hand flies up to cover her mouth.

“OK, wait, _what?_ You need to slow down, Myka. One craaaazy thing at a time, please."

Myka drags her hand through her hair, then takes a deep breath. “OK so last night when I got home Helena was in the tub, fixing a leak, and she was like, covered in water and all— all— like, _muscle-y_ , I mean who knew being a bartender could make you so well toned? And there's no _way_ she has time to go to the gym..…maybe she has to lift kegs or something……”

Myka hangs while recalling the firmness of Helena’s arm when she touched it reassuringly last night.

"Myka…..?”

Myka’s attention snaps back, “……and— she was, like, soaking wet, and you could _totally_ see right through her shirt……” There is a desperation in Myka’s voice as she tries to communicate there was clearly no way to help herself from noticing.

"…..soooo what I am hearing is that you are lusting over a _plumber_ , Myka? A _sexy plumber_ , nonetheless, but…...” Abigail teases.

"…… _no_ making fun of me right now Abbs, I have to get this out, ok?"

“Mmmm, sorry. I've just always thought you as a brains, not brawn type of girl…."

“Abbs!” Abigail’s _really_ punchy today, Myka thinks, and it is not helpful.

“O.K…..ok.” Abigail mouths defensively.

Myka sighs. "So after the shower thingy was fixed I helped her out of the tub and she was standing right there, like, _so close_ , and I sort of—of— _leaned_ in and—and……” Myka takes a shaky breath, “…….I swear she almost kissed me back, Abbs, but she stopped short and said she had to leave for work, then later kissed the back of my hand, while looking right at me with these— these— like— _super_ intense eyes…."

“Would you say her eyes were _smoldering_ , Myka?” Abigail says with more than a hint of humor.

Myka takes Abigail's comment seriously. “I don’t know Abbs. All I know is that I can’t remember anyone ever looking at me like that before, my stomach was in knots…."

“Mmmmm…..so, interesting plot twist….the _plumber_ is secretly a _prince_ masquerading as a _plumber_. And this _prince_ has the hots for you, but no kissing at the ball until masks come off after midnight….."

“—Abigail! No. _Teasing_ …..” Myka sets her jaw.

“—Fine, but you’re no fun."

Myka sighs heavily. “And, so, like Christina saw the _whole thing_ , which was totally inappropriate and embarrassing, right, and told me she thought I _should_ kiss Helena, and that when she was younger she’d seen her mom kissing someone named _Giselle_ ….."

Abigail stifles a laugh. “ _Giselle_? Seriously?"

"Um, yeah? Why..."

Abigail sighs. “You _do_ realize how well this all of this is fitting into my covert prince fairy-tale narrative, Myka…."

Myka’s not sure what Abigail means, but she is already getting tired of this trope. "….are you pushing this because I told you Claudia called me 'princess' the other day after dinner?"

“Um, you most certainly _did not_ mention that, Myka…..”

Myka can _feel_ Abigail grinning devilishly over the phone.

“….but I’m liking this Claudia already….."

Myka is _this_ close to hanging up but knows she needs to tell _someone_ what happened last night, and that person has to be Abigail. She takes a calming breath. "Fine. Ok. _Whatever._ So….Christina was supposed to stay at Claudia’s last night, but I said she should just stay with me at the apartment. I dropped her off at school this morning and met the vice-principal, Miss Morales. _Guess_ what her first name is?"

“Hm. Ann?"

“Abbs…..one more time, seriously….." Myka has a vision of punching Abigail in the arm. Hard.

Abigail tones it down. "Sorry. Are you sure it’s her?"

"Christina used her first name _pretty_ casually, but then corrected herself…...it seemed like out of habit. And I can’t imagine there are a million people running around out there named Giselle who Helena might have kissed."

“Well you never know how many Giselle’s a sexy plumber prince might meet on her daily rounds in the village……"

Myka completely ignores Abigail. "No— yeah— look, I mean this woman was, like, gorgeous Abbs, with these breathtaking glowy eyes and this beautiful thick long braid. And come to think of it, kinda, weirdly punky and young for an administrator. I mean her look was tasteful and business-like, but she was wearing a lot of jewelry: earrings, rings, necklaces, bracelets."

"Well, it's a charter school right?"

"I'm not sure what that is. The school has a kind of hippie name."

“Years ago they broke up some of the larger city schools into smaller ones, shrinking class sizes and allowing them more autonomy. Also their staff is often young, starting right out of college, thrown in feet first, and if they’re lucky, they move on to more ‘manageable’ schools later, most likely outside of the city."

“Huh.” Myka’s never, ever thought about schools and kids in large cities before.

Abigail pulls the topic back to Myka. “So are you worried you can't compete with this woman?"

“Um, I guess? I—I don't know Abbs. What's going on with me? It’s so unlike me to be so—so— _impulsive_ ….” Clearly agitated, Myka drops her head in her hand.

“You, Myka, impulsive? _Never._ ” Abigail chuckles but then takes it down a notch. “What’s going with you is that you’re completely _nuts_ about this woman, this _Helena_. And it seems she's into you, too."

"Ugh, I don't know. Claudia said she thinks Helena 'likes me - likes me.' And Christina said she thinks her mom likes me, too."

“So an eight-year-old is giving you advice about your love life."

"Yes. YES. Exactly......."

“Uh-huh. Well, it seems she's used to people swooning over her mother, the sexy plumber prince."

“Abigail!"

“OK, you're right, I guess we can drop the _plumber_ and just say _sexy prince_ since we know now the plumber thing is a cover. But, seriously, tell me I'm wrong and I'll stop…."

Myka knows the answer, but doesn’t want to admit Abigail is right.

“…...aaand, you’re still making dinner for them on Friday, correct?"

"Emmm, yeah."

"Good. Try to relax."

“ _Relax_? How can I possibly do that now?"

"Remember, it’s not the destination, but the journey…..."

"Uggggh. Seriously Abigail, how many times are you going to say that to me in one lifetime."

"Until you actually embrace it."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Look, it's obvious that they like you. Just talk to them, get to know them better. Play it cool, then tell me _everything_ when you visit this weekend."

\------------

Myka finds herself so distraught over her Helena conundrum that she barely remembers tonight is her public debut as head registrar, the event coinciding with a major exhibition opening. The evening is an important one, as she will be fully stepping into Leena’s shoes and out from the behind her desk. While her position is not as prominent as the owners and the director, her responsibilities do include some level of promoting the current gallery offerings to collectors and the press.

Promotion, in general, is _really_ not her thing, but she knows in her gut it's something she needs to work on not only for her job but also for her own art career. Leena told her she has faith in her and assured her she'll get the hang of it quickly. Arming herself with the perfect dress, vintage low heels, elegantly arranged hair, skillfully applied makeup, and jewelry supplied by Amanda, she feels ready to take on the challenge. 

She dutifully trails along after the opening to the formal dinner for the artist, then a drinks reception, meeting and greeting what seems like a million people. Mentally cataloging each name and face, she tries to be as attentive and gracious as possible. She thinks to herself Helena would have some tips on how to handle all of this and wishes Helena could somehow be there to see her outfit, perhaps even as her date, then panics slightly at the thought of Helena at all, and quickly puts those thoughts away.

As she leaves the bar she hails a cab. The ride to Helena’s is pleasantly short. She arrives well after midnight and finds Helena home but fast asleep. Utterly exhausted, she removes her dress and shoes and crawls into bed still wearing her slip and tights. She closes her eyes and drifts off in an instant.

\----------

Myka startles as her alarm rings Friday morning. She sits up and while rubbing the sleep out of her eyes glances toward Helena's room. Finding Helena not present, she sighs deeply and slides out of bed to prepare for the day.

At work, she throws herself into the tasks at hand as much as humanly possible, hoping to drown out the overwhelming anxiety slowly building in her mind over dinner tonight with Helena and Christina.

She worries how the evening will play out. Will the air be tense between her and Helena because of Wednesday night? Maybe what happened barely registered on Helena’s radar since she was panicked about the leak, worried about work and exhausted in general. And there Myka was, carelessly throwing herself at Helena, adding to her stress. Good job, Myka.

Maybe Helena kissed her hand to placate her, to calm her down? Because that's what princes do right? Princes use their charm to win over people's favor, to pacify the masses, to deflect in times of crisis. She mentally curses Abigail and her tasteless yet oddly relevant joke for putting that thought into her head.

Be calm, she tells herself, act as if they are friends. They are friends, right? Suddenly she’s not sure. Just cook them a thank you meal, don't make a fuss. Breathe.

\-----------------

The workday eventually winds down and on her way home Myka stops for groceries. She decides on a simple meal, thinking the last thing she wants is to mess it up out of sheer nervousness.

Upon arrival at the apartment, she immediately begins to cook. By the time Helena and Christina turn up, she's lulled herself into a tense state of alert, imaging every errant sound to be them at the door. She’s run through so many scenarios of what might happen tonight that she’s mentally exhausted. Should she mention their almost kiss? Meeting Giselle? Or just keep her head down and her mouth shut. She’s really not sure.

\-------------------

“Myka!” the _actual_ Christina exclaims cheerfully when she bursts through the door. She runs over and gives Myka an exuberant hug.

“Hi!” Myka bends down to return the hug, genuinely happy to see her, feeling as if they've bonded over their walk together to school. She glances hesitantly over Christina's shoulder up at Helena, pulse quickening, unsure of what to expect.

Helena stands just inside the door, rubbing circles on her temple with one hand, deep lines forming on her brow, eyes narrowed, clearly in pain. She throws Christina’s gym bag onto the floor then turns in the direction of Christina and Myka. As she meets Myka’s gaze, her hand stills and her brow softens, eyes brightening. One corner of her mouth ticks up, then the other, both rising steadily to form a warm, radiant grin.

Myka stares, awkwardly at first, back at Helena, while slowly standing. Her heart sinks as Helena's grin grows; a shy smile taking over her own face in response. She can _feel_ herself blushing and averts her eyes down. Finding an expectant Christina looking up at her, she hastily blurts out in a timbe higher than usual, “Are you ladies hungry? Because dinner’s almost ready."

“Yay!” Christina claps lightly while jumping up and down.

Helena walks over and lays a hand on Christina's shoulder. “Settle down young lady. First you need to wash up.” She points to the sink.

“OK, mom.” Christina chirps tunefully then skips away.

Myka steps over next to Helena and does her best to sound casual. “Does she always get this excited about dinner?"

“I believe she’s still a bit wound up from the tournament. I also believe present company may be the cause of the fuss.” Helena nods and smiles affectionately at Myka while exuding a weary energy, the polar opposite of Christina’s buoyancy. "And dinner tonight does not involve my nor Claudia’s cooking, not that Claudia cooks."

Myka lets out a short snicker and glances humbly through long lashes at Helena; a lopsided smirk plastered across her face. 

Christina wanders back over. “Ready!” she shakes her freshly washed hands.

“OK little lady, let's get you a plate…” Myka says a silent thank you to Christina for the diversion, feeling her gaze lingered on Helena’s lips a smidgen too long.

Dinner is pleasant as they all perch on the sofa bed, dining around the coffee table. Christina sits between Myka and Helena, which Myka thinks is fine as she makes the perfect buffer. Myka asks Christina to regale her with tales of the tournament at school, and Christina happily complies. Helena chimes in occasionally but is more monosyllabic than usual. Myka nervously glances at Helena from time to time, noticing she pinches the bridge of her nose and rubs the back of her neck and temples far too often.

Helena begins to clean up, but Myka says to stop, she’ll do it later. Helena gives a thankful half-smile and nod, then tells Christina it's time to take a bath. She fills the tub and helps Christina get settled in.

Myka moves into Helena’s room to give Christina some privacy, balancing apprehensively on the edge of Helena’s bed. With Christina occupied, she’s not sure she knows what to say to Helena when they are finally alone.

Helena enters the room several minutes later and plops down heavily next to Myka, letting out a pained groan. Squeezing her eyes shut, she drops her head and begins rolling her neck from side to side as if removing a kink.

Myka eyes Helena up and down worriedly. “Are you alright?"

Helena straightens her posture, stretching, then massages the back of her neck with a hand. “Have you ever had one of those……pains……all day. Neck—head—back....won’t. go. away…..."

Before she can stop herself, Myka places her hands on Helena’s shoulders and gives them a firm pat. “Turn to the side, maybe I can help work it out.” She moves further onto the bed.

Helena stiffens on contact, then relaxes and turns away without hesitation.

Myka studies Helena’s silky mane as it tumbles down her back, rationally deciding it would be best to sweep it matter-of-factly out of the way, but instead lightly grazes her fingertips spontaneously along the base of Helena’s neck as she goes.

Helena’s shoulders gently shrug, head deliberately twisting toward Myka in response to her touch. Mid-turn, she abruptly jerks back, “Ow…bollocks.” Her head tilts to the side and a hand shoots up, fingers desperately prodding the area of the pain. "Can’t—turn—my—bloody—"

“—It’s ok,” Myka blurts out, attempting to calm Helena. She hastily places her hand over Helena’s, wrapping her soft, elegant fingers around Helena's long, strong ones, nimbly removing the hand entirely, coercing it gracefully down to rest on Helena’s thigh. Her hand glides back up and gently massages the recently vacated spot.

“Try to relax. Did you take any aspirin today.” She tries to keep the tone conversational as she shifts closer, digging her thumbs into Helena’s trapezius muscles.

“Ibuprophen, yes. many. It was not helpfu….ooooo god, Myka.” Helena’s eyes snap shut. 

Myka's heart rate jumps and her stomach flutters at the sound of her name falling breathily off of Helena’s lips. She jabs her thumbs in deeper, concentrating on the task at hand, tamping down her rising arousal. Helena’s skin feels so supple on the surface, she thinks, yet her build is so solid underneath; she's never felt anything quite like it before. “There’s a big knot right…..there.” She moves in even closer.

“Really, I couldn’t tel…..uhhhh.” Helena’s head drops forward.

Myka’s hands creep ever further south pushing Helena's loose fitting button down shirt off her shoulders, leaving her upper back and arms exposed, save for the thin straps of her camisole. Myka closes her eyes, focusing the sensation of Helena’s body heat as it travels up her arms, hands seeking out areas holding the most tension, pressing skillfully, reverently, into taut muscles.

Mid-back, near Helena’s spine, Myka feels the skin toughen. She trails her thumb lightly over the path of a deep scar running diagonally to the top of Helena's left shoulder. Helena’s back arches in response and Myka slowly traces the scar back down with her fingers, increasing the pressure, mapping the contours of its form.

At that very moment Christina yells, “Mom, I’m done!”

Myka's hand stills and Helena exhales loudly. Helena slumps forward dramatically, hands gripping the bed, head dipping down. She stays hunched over, eyes closed, for several seconds.

Inching her hand away, Myka impetuously asks, "Helena? What happened to yo…….."

Before Myka can finish, Helena turns her head as far as she can manage toward the kitchen and loudly replies, "I’ll be right there, darling.” Rising slowly, facing away from Myka, she hikes up her shirt while rolling her shoulders and neck.

Myka avidly follows Helena’s movements and when she doesn’t immediately turn around, a feeling of dread washes over her. She's messed up, she thinks, gone too far; she shouldn’t have asked about the scar. Her eyes drop to the floor, lips parted, ashamed that she’s somehow made Helena feel uncomfortable.

Her eyes dart up at sound of a short snicker. She sees Helena stifle a chuckle and stares perplexed as it escalates into a quiet belly laugh. Helena takes in a deep breath, drags a hand through her hair, then spins toward Myka, an impish smirk crossing her face.

“Did you hear that, Myka?" Helena says with disbelief.

“Hear what?” Myka's brows nearly collide in confusion. She tries hard to recall hearing anything out of the ordinary but thinks whatever it is, it seems to be unrelated to her question, if Helena even heard her question.

“I just called Christina _darling_. My grandmother, my mother's mother, used to call me that when I was a little girl, as a term of endearment. I haven't thought about that in _years_." Her eyes drift off as if lost in a memory . She hugs herself lightly, thumb running absently over her arm. 

"I can’t imagine what possessed me to utter that word.” Her eyes meet Myka's and the corners of her lips curl suggestively up. "Perhaps the comfort of your magic hands are to blame......" 

The intensity in Helena’s gaze and the seductive tone in her voice together incite that swooning sensation in Myka again and she suddenly feels as if her lungs are not breathing in enough air for her to stay conscious. She wants to run and hide but hopes her nerves don't show.

“I’ll answer your question,” Helena gives a tiny yet regal nod as her expression sobers, then glances toward where Christina is waiting, "....after."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note moving forward....there's no cancer arc in this story, and pretty much all of the physical damage is a remnant of the past.
> 
> Next up: Helena opens up to Myka…..some Helena backstory is finally on its way!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena opens up to Myka, and they both learn a little about each other. But their follow-throughs are less than linear.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO this is everything but the….well the kitchen sink does make an appearance, and this is not _everything_ …..so let’s just say this is the start of a lot of things Helena related. I’ve had this backstory in my head for so long now I’m hoping it will make sense to you all as it’s coming together. Oh and I wanted there to be some play, to have this not just be a recital of facts, so there is a bit of flirting (I mean Helena can’t help herself, right? It’s what she does…)
> 
> Trigger warning for accidental death in the family.

```````````````````

> _Any city however small, is in fact divided into two, one the city of the poor, the other of the rich. These are at war with one another.  
>  Plato_

````````````````````

Helena and Christina pass Myka as they move into Christina’s room to prepare for bed. Christina gives Myka a goodnight hug, then Myka heads into the kitchen to clean up from dinner.

As she places dirty dishes into the sink, Myka wonders what came over her earlier, initiating that back rub, but decides that she's glad she did and feels a shade lighter knowing Helena is about to share something about her past. Taking a deep breath, she tells herself to get a grip, just relax, let things happen naturally. Helena’s mood seems to have improved, so keep it casual, don’t force things. Let her talk.

Helena enters the kitchen fifteen minutes later, rubbing the back of her neck as she walks. She immediately grabs two glasses off the shelf and crouches down, reaching deep into a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of scotch.

“I don’t know about you, Myka, but I could use a little of this right now." She flashes the bottle at Myka.

Myka looks over from the sink where she's washing dishes. “Sure. Hey, that’s the expensive stuff…"

Helena gives a sly smirk. “One of the few perks of the job." She stands and lays a hand on Myka’s shoulder, mouthing “sit” while throwing her eyes over to the couch.

Myka nods, dries her hands and moves into the living room.

Helena grabs some ice for the drinks, then follows. Plunking down heavily next to Myka on the sofa bed, she pours them both a generous shot.

She raises her glass to Myka, and Myka reciprocates. Their gazes lock momentarily, Myka’s anxious, Helena’s forlorn, and they simultaneously take a swig.

Helena looks down at her glass while running a thumb restlessly over the rim. She then glances away. “I was fifteen— almost sixteen when it happened, the accident....” Helena’s sentence hangs as if she’s deciding what to say next.

Myka waits patiently for further details, but after a few seconds decides Helena needs a push. “The, uh, boat?”

Helena’s head swings around. “What? No. That was several years before. Claudia didn’t tell you?" She eyes Myka quizzically.

“Umm.....no. She said I should ask you, that it wasn't her place to say." Myka tries convey how much she's in the dark about Helena's past.

“Oh.” Helena drops her eyes and fingers the edge of her glass.

To gain Helena’s attention, Myka angles her head down. “Helena, you don’t have to tell me anything, you know…it's just….well I know so little about you and I’d really like to get to know you better.” Her voice holds a heartfelt interest.

Myka thinks to herself this is good…...getting to know each other first is a far more rational place to start than her impetuous attempt at a kiss the other night.

Helena’s shoulders slump and her long dark hair falls forward, masking her face. She swirls then sips her drink and places her hair behind her ear. Wetting her lips, she turns to face Myka with an amiable compliance in her eyes. “Where should I start?"

“Maybe at the, uh, beginning, please?” Myka tries to think of a good entryway. “You mentioned your grandmother, your mother’s mother. What was she like?" She gives a crooked half smirk, pleased with herself at having thought of this idea.

A genuinely warm, almost peaceful smile takes over Helena's face, quite unlike anything Myka’s seen Helena show before.

“She was incredibly kind…they both were very kind, my mother's parents, gentle souls, though they were rather aged by the time I was born. My grandfather was a retired engineering professor and they lived in a lovely house with a huge garden overlooking the valley of the River Taff in South Wales. When we’d visit, my mother would take me into the forest and show me where she played as a child. It was my favorite place in the all the world, so heavenly and magical. Especially in comparison to where we were living in the England at the time."

Helena's face instantly falls into a deep frown. She takes a mouthful of alcohol and swallows hard.

"My father’s family is quite wealthy….old money, you know. Until I was six, we lived with his parents, his siblings and my cousins on his family's sprawling estate. Previous to that my parents had been estranged from the family for many years. It was my fault we were there at all."

Helena dips her head down, studying her glass closely, twirling it gently left and right with both of her hands.

Myka is tempted to move closer, to reach out and comfort Helena somehow but admits to herself listening is probably the best course of action right now.

"How could it have been your fault? You were just a child.....”

Helena leans forward, elbows on knees, one hand holding her drink between her legs, the other pinching her bottom lip. “I was very much a surprise, you see…..my mother was forty when she found out she was pregnant, my father forty-five and my brother Charles, six. I was also rather badly timed as my father had recently been made redundant as a journalist at the Guardian. He was highly intelligent but not the most disciplined of men and Thatcher’s Britain was hardly the easiest of times for jobseekers.” She absently sips her drink and sits back up.

"My mother was the one with the organizational skills. She ran an antiques stall at the Portobello Road Market but picked up more work when my father became unemployed, though it never paid highly enough to support two children. In the end, they reluctantly agreed to move in with my father’s family until my father got back on his feet.” She lifts a hand and rubs circles on her temple as her eyes flutter closed.

This whole scenario seems odd to Myka. "Helena, you can’t possibly blame yourself for that, the adults were the ones responsible…." She eyes Helena worriedly, painfully aware Helena is still nursing a headache, unsure of how she can make it better. “…couldn’t his parents have helped them out without all of you having to move in with them? That seems excessive."

Helena lowers her hand and glances sharply over at Myka. Her expression reminds Myka of the one Christina has given her so often, indicating she doesn’t understand why Myka is confused. Helena’s face softens as it dawns on her that Myka doesn’t have all the facts just yet.

“Sorry, I should explain— my father was the youngest of three and had no real responsibilities in terms of the family hierarchy. He was rather generously given the freedom to be the 'eccentric little brother’, and after university floated around, never having to work much, dabbling in this and that. By the late sixties, he embraced the hippie movement quite vehemently and met my mother in seventy-one at an early incarnation of the Glastonbury festival. They fell madly in love and he and my mother eloped."

Helena throws back the dregs of her scotch and pours herself another, offering a top up to Myka. Myka eyes the bottle, then holds out her glass to accept.

“That sounds, uh, sort of romantic, right? Falling in love and eloping….." Confused, but completely enthralled by this story, Myka suddenly realizes there is usually a not so happy reason behind a decision like that. “So why did they elope?

Helena sighs. "As a youth my father was given a long leash, told to 'get everything out of his system.’ At the end of the day, he was expected to settle down and marry his own kind….to fall back into the fold so to speak…...keeping up appearances and all that.” Helena's head bops a little as she speaks, her diction becoming even more proper and rigid than usual.

Myka takes a demure sip of her drink. “But, I mean if your mother’s father was a professor, wasn’t that good enough for your father’s family? That seems like a worthy profession…."

Helena huffs out a dismissive breath and waves a hand. “The South Wales and Monmouthshire School of Mines could hardly compare to the prestige of Oxford or Cambridge.” She eyes Myka plaintively and purses her lips.

"To the family my mother was a nobody, a money grubbing commoner, and, worst of all, _Welsh_ …..she barely registered on any scale of worthiness for my father. Hence, he was cut off from their money and resources the moment they were wed."

Myka’s eyebrows knit. "Wait, I get the other things but what does being Welsh have to do with anything?” She's feeling enough anger towards Helena’s father’s family for being judgmental that this slips out of her mouth before she thinks about the what she’s asking.

Helena turns, looking slightly thrown off by the query, a fire in her eyes. “Because it’s not _English_.”

Myka’s honestly not sure why she’s arguing because she knew the answer already, but is glad to have bumped Helena out of her sullen mood. She decides to continue on with this line of thought. "But Wales is right next to England. And part of Great Britain....”

Helena eyes Myka up and down suspiciously, lips now parted. "Have you not watched many period dramas? Or read classical literature?” Her tone is a bit harsh.

Myka is taken slightly aback. “It— I mean, it just seems sort of like a stereotype, right?" She mentally crosses her fingers, hoping her absentminded question hasn't offended Helena somehow. "And, duh, _of course_ I’ve read lots of books, I _did_ grow up in a bookstore…." Hoping to make light of the situation, Myka rolls her eyes and tosses her head, causing her curls to bounce playfully.

Helena’s posture perks up, and her disposition brightens, seemingly intrigued by this new information. “You grew up in a bookstore? _Really_?" She eyes Myka enthusiastically.

Myka is immeasurably pleased that Helena seems interested. “Yeah. My father owns a bookstore, Bering and Sons, in Colorado Springs."

"So then you have a brother?"

"No, a sister….my father just thought the ‘and Sons’ sounded better.” Myka's face sours.

“How unfortunate."

“Believe me, I know.” Eyeing her drink dejectedly, Myka takes a sip while throwing a glance at Helena. She decides she’s not ready to talk about herself just yet.

“But back to your story…..this is, what, the nineteen seventies you're talking about, not the eighteen seventies, right? Lady Di and Prince Charles….Prince of Wales? I thought that, like, loosened all those royals up."

Helena’s shoulders relax. “Myka, their wedding did not occur until the eighties and _Lady_ Diana Spencer was from nobility, her father was an Earl. And Prince of Wales is just a title, it has little to do with the Welsh as a people.”

"Oh. I guess I’ve, uh, never really spent much time learning the whole British nobility thing." Myka gives a stifled smirk.

“Don’t bother, it’s not worth your time. Bloody Luddites the lot of them.....” Helena grumbles pointedly, then eyes her drink again as she thoughtlessly rubs the back of her neck.

Myka looks on worriedly, thinking she's foolishly ruined the continuity and now Helena’s lost her train of thought. And if she doesn’t get this story out of her soon, Helena might get too drunk and pass out, and then she’ll never find out what happened to her.

“So, um, why did you have to live on your grandparent's estate after you were born?"

Helena's hand drops limply from her neck to her lap as she breathes out a heavy sigh. "It turned out my father’s pride was irreparably damaged by being out of a job and living on public assistance, so he begged his father to let him back into the family. My grandfather agreed, but there were conditions: we all had to move into the house, he had to find a more conservative job, and my mother had to learn how to become more lady-like in order to fit into their class."

Myka grimaces as her eyes narrow. “That sounds like nineteen thirty-two or something….."

"One might think so, but you know families and their passive aggressive dynamics. Especially those of the moneyed classes, always jockeying for power, control, dominance. My grandfather was a taciturn man, very much the patriarch."

Myka’s face withers. While her own father can certainly be controlling, she’s circumvented his heavy-handed ideals by becoming successful out in the world in her own way. Obviously Helena’s father wasn’t able to make that happen for himself.

"We lived under the thumb of the Wells' until my grandfather died in nineteen ninety. The eldest brother inherited nearly everything, but there was quite a large sum of money set aside for my father and his sister, no strings attached. After grandfather’s death, our family devolved into second class citizens on the estate, which was completely humiliating for us all. My father’s siblings never warmed to my mother nor Charles and I, and my cousins were told to mock us. My mother was absolutely miserable and she’d escape with us to Wales whenever possible. Eventually, my parents decided it was time to take the money and leave for good."

A bittersweet smirk crosses Helena’s face, almost as if her spirits are lifting.

"My parents wanted to get as far away from the life of the upper class as possible. True to their hippie roots, they bought a canal worthy houseboat large enough for four of us and we traveled all over Europe year round. Life on a boat wasn't easy, but it was an adventure. We lived in relative luxury compared many others we met as my father always had funds for food and repairs though supplies dwindled over time."

Drink in hand, Helena rises and walks over to the bookshelf. She picks up the photograph of her family and brings it up to eye level, examining it with love and longing.

Myka crawls to the right corner of the bed and leans over the sofa back. She reaches a long arm out to point at the photo. "So that’s all of you in front of the boat?"

Helena smiles at the image affectionately. “Yes. My mother sent this to her parents, it was taken the first day we began our journey. It's one of the few things I have left.”

Helena’s smile fades as she hands the picture to Myka. She leans on the sofa, back to Myka, lost in memories.

“You look so much like your mother, Helena. She was beautiful."

Helena turns to glance at the photo. "She was."

"You must miss them." Myka looks up at Helena with genuine sympathy. Though she’s not that close with her family, she can’t imagine losing them.

"Every day." Helena blinks back a tear and swiftly turns away, eyeing her glass and swirling her drink.

Myka instinctively places a hand on top of Helena’s as it grips the back of the sofa. "That must be hard.”

Helena glances down at the hand and takes a deep breath. "Christina helps tremendously, her presence……she makes me feel whole again. As does Claudia, in her own way. She lost her parents in a car accident when she was a child and had a rather difficult time growing up in the foster system. We’re quite alike in many ways."

Myka feels tears building behind her eyes now too but tries to keep her expression neutral. "I’m so sorry for both of you.” She gives Helena’s hand a light squeeze, then lets go.

Taking one last look at the picture, she hands it to Helena. She then decides to try lightening the mood. “You look like quite the handful here already, Helena. Was your brother like you?"

Helena smirks and gives a terse snigger. “Charles was a dreamer like my father. Charming for sure, but not the most practical. We were close but the age difference, especially as he grew into a moody teen, meant he was often off doing god knows what kind of adolescent nonsense and I became the nagging little sister. Though in the end we did have a few of the same interests…..."

Helena places the picture back on the shelf, eyeing it fondly one last time. She takes a swig of scotch, then steps around the couch toward the window and parks herself on the armchair located underneath.

"When I was twelve, we were about to embark on a long summer trip and had stocked up on supplies and fuel earlier in the day. We’d been docked in Italy for three months and my father was itching to travel. I, on the other hand, was less than keen on leaving, as I’d fallen in desperately in love with a Greek girl my age named Kristyna, who’s parent’s boat was nearby."

Myka’s face lights up. "So Christina…..”

“…..is named after her, yes.”

Helena’s gaze freezes, a bright, knowing grin steadily growing on her lips as her eyes fervently trace lines over Myka’s face. 

Myka tries to avert her eyes but fails. She’s a bit unnerved by the intensity in Helena’s gaze but feels her blood warming the longer she looks.

“What?” Myka asks innocently.

Helena’s grin becomes even more bewitching as it widens. “Kristyna had the most exquisite deep green eyes and beautiful, boundlessly buoyant hair, not unlike your own, Myka.”

Myka feels a little lightheaded at the compliment and fingers a curl bashfully.

“R—really?” The corners of her lips curl up as she flutters her lashes lightly.

"I have to admit I’d not thought of that earlier, but perhaps that’s why I was drawn to you at the hotel. I’d felt it was absolutely imperative that I intervene.” Helena speaks with a frank honesty.

"You did?”

Myka’s strangely starting to feel as if she’s in a romantic comedy, the kind where character B tells character A they fell in love with them at first sight. Her heart swells at the thought but ebbs as she decides that’s technically _not_ what Helena is saying, and tells herself to stop making things into more than they are.

"Yes. I mean I obviously I fabricated the story about meeting you at that party, but I _did_ feel as though we'd meet before.” Helena's eyes beam with an honest resolve.

Myka finds Helena’s look so disarmingly evocative that she's immediately back to floating on air again. "Well, I’m lucky you, um, did…...feel compelled to, er, _intervene_.” She gazes back, starry-eyed, and thinks to herself it’s incredible how this woman can go from gut-wrenchingly serious to seriously flirty in under sixty seconds……

"Myka could be a Greek name, you know…..are you Greek at all, Myka?” Helena eyes Myka coyly.

“Ummm, not that I know of? But I, uh, do speak a bit of it….Greek……" Play along Myka. Play. Along. “ _Efcharisto_ ….” 

Helena gives a slight nod coupled with an ingratiating half-smile. “ _Parakalo._ ” She leans back in the armchair looking utterly self-satisfied.

Myka’s smiles back shyly, gaze fixed on Helena. She decides Helena’s _definitely_ too far away, all the way across the room in that chair, and she should be much, _much_ closer. She feels the urge to saunter over and kiss that smug look _right_ off of Helena's cute little face. Her smile fades as she blinks, suddenly realizing she’s perhaps a little more than _slightly_ tipsy already. She tells herself she'd better slow down before she does something rash.

Taking a tiny sip of liquid, she decides since no actual kissing is going to be happening right now, she should press on. “I’m a little scared to ask what happened next. With the, uh, boat.”

Helena’s expression falls flat. “Right.” She runs a hand pensively through her hair, then continues. "Kristyna and I promised to meet one last time before my family left the next morning. Once my parents and Charles were asleep, I snuck out of the cabin and onto the deck. One moment I was waving to Kristyna on the dock, the next I was flying through the air and into the water."

Myka’s eyes go wide. “W—what happened?"

"My father had purchased several cans of petrol for a discount from a local man earlier that day. Before turning in he’d asked Charles to stow them in the cabin, so they wouldn’t get stolen off the deck. Charles, in his lazy teenage state, dragged them in as far as the hall and plopped them right in front of a window containing a fan. The police report speculated one of the gas cans wasn't properly ventilated and swelled due to the unusually hot temperature of the day. It burst, spewing gas all over the area, drenching the fan, which immediately sparked, causing the gas to ignite, blowing the flames directly into both Charles and my parents bedrooms. The other two cans exploded soon after. The boat being quite narrow, they had little chance of escape."

Helena's eyes are near to bursting with despair and grief. Myka feels her heart reach out to Helena, but finds no words of comfort to give. A sudden pang of guilt washes over her due to their flirty banter just moments ago.

Helena grimaces and angles her eyes down, restless fingers picking at the arm of the chair. "I'd been thrown so far out in the water that no one would have known I was there in all the chaos and darkness. I'm assuming Kristyna told someone to look for me, then ran back to her boat so her parents wouldn't worry. They didn't approve of how close we'd become, which is why we had to sneak out. I never saw her again."

Myka's heart drops even further. She _really_ hopes this story can't get any sadder, but has a sinking feeling this is only the beginning.

"Once the fire was put out some firemen spotted me with their search lights and a police boat fished me out of the water. I was wet and in shock, but not badly hurt. And though I pleaded to stay, they took me directly a hospital several towns away for observation. The police weren’t particularly kind as it was a small town wary of strangers, especially transients like us. I was screaming at them to tell me if my parents were alright, but they kept talking to each other in Italian and wouldn’t tell me a thing.” Helena clenches her jaw as her hand steadily balls into a fist.

"Once they learned who I really was, that my family was from money, a woman came into my hospital room and told me what had happened to my parents and Charles. She said they were sending me back to my family immediately. I was so traumatized I had no way of resisting."

"Helena……” Myka fills her name with as much compassion as possible. Helena’s nostrils flare and her chest heaves visibly and Myka swears can almost feel Helena's anger radiating across the room. 

Helena drinks the remainder of her glass of scotch in one go and sinks further into the chair. "I learned much later they were trying to cover the whole thing up as the man who sold us the petrol was employed by the police."

“No…..” Myka shakes her head slowly in denial, eyes wide, hardly believing her ears. She can’t help looking completely horrified.

Helena registers Myka’s look as discomfort and shifts in her chair. "I’m sorry, Myka….you see I get a bit carried away with unnecessary details and then I tend to upset my guests irreparably. I should stop there…..I imagine you need to get some rest for work tomorrow.” She gives a gracious but wavering smile.

“ _No—_ I mean— yes, work, but no, I don’t need to rest.” Myka knows she shouldn’t push, but desperately wants to know the rest of the story. "Helena, _please_. You have to tell me what happened next, I mean you promised to tell me about your scar…..and— and, well, thank you for telling me about your family. You didn't have to…..I’m so sorry if I pushed you.” Hoping once again she hasn’t offended Helena in some way, she leans forward, biting her bottom lip, eyes beaming with anticipation at Helena.

Helena pulls in a breath, then releases it slowly. Pressing her lips together into a slight grimace, she eyes Myka pensively up and down. Eventually, her lips curl ever so slightly at the ends. “All right, Myka, all right. I must warn you though, circumstances will not be improving anytime soon.” She drops her head and reaches up to prod a muscle in her neck, closing her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Teenage kicks with Helena and much to Myka's surprise, some more Myka backstory. 
> 
> Also just wanted to say, if I haven't previously, comments/criticism and hellos are always welcome and greatly appreciated as I'm totally still hashing this out......


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenage kicks with Helena and some Myka backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick refresher heading into this chapter…..Helena has already downed two very full scotches and Myka maybe a little over one, but she probably didn’t eat much at dinner because she was so nervous. Ice is no longer relevant, all booze is now neat. Also, Myka found a place to live all the way back in chapter 4, but wasn’t able to move in until the first of the month, which is why she’s been bunking with Helena for so long.

——————————————

> _“It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill him, depending a good deal on luck. No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky.”_  
>  \--E.B. White, Here Is New York

\-------------------------

Helena rises from the armchair and moves back to the sofa. She sits and pours herself another drink.

Myka scoots forward to the edge of the bed and perches next to Helena. She watches with mild concern as Helena fills her glass, thinking she should say something like “maybe you should slow down,” but then holds her own glass out for a refill. Claudia wasn't kidding about needing the booze…..it’s presence seems paramount as this story becomes increasingly heartbreaking. She takes a small sip and makes a promise to herself to drink _a lot_ of water before going to sleep.

Helena drags a hand through her hair, stopping midway through, mind busy formulating what to say next. As her fingers comb back slowly, her tresses fall forward in shimmery, elegant sheets. She stretches her neck, then turns, one brow raised, toward Myka.

"As you can imagine my father’s family was less than thrilled with the events. After all was said and done they wanted as little to do with me as possible but found they had no choice; I was delivered directly to their doorstep from Italy. They made a fruitless effort to ship me to Wales, but by then my mother’s parents were both in their nineties and my grandmother in ill health."

Helena pauses to take a large swig of her drink and holds the liquid in her mouth, languidly swirling it with her tongue, before swallowing slowly. Lowering her eyes, she focuses on her glass, then wets her lips and inhales a deep, cleansing breath. 

"Losing my family hurt _so much_ , Myka, to say I was miserable is an understatement of epic proportions. There I was, all of twelve years old, absolutely _gutted_ , completely lost, utterly empty. I didn’t understand why my family was gone, but I remained. All anyone replied when I asked was ‘you were the lucky one,’ as if that were some sort of consolation."

Helena shakes her head ever so slightly while softly biting her lip. "I was tolerated for the summer at the Wells’ and come fall I was immediately placed in boarding school."

Angling her eyes down, she runs a thumb uneasily over the edge of her glass. "In hindsight, they were just doing what they knew, what they did with their own children; they hadn't a clue how to deal with me nor I, them. I’d grown up in a radically different environment and harbored only vague memories of living on the estate as a young child. But at twelve? I was such a _feral_ little thing.” Helena spits out the word “feral” with a growl while a dark, devilish grin flashes briefly across her face.

Myka winces at the word.

Helena briefly sucks in her bottom lip then gives a frigid grimace. "Boarding school was _unbearable_. Charles and I were homeschooled, and I was already at a higher level of learning than most of the classes I was placed in. Not only was I bored to tears, I felt _caged_. The older I grew, the more restless and reckless I became. By the time I was fourteen, I'd sneak out to pubs and clubs, starting on weekends, then extending to school days. I'd been reprimanded so many times that eventually my father’s family threw a bunch of money at the problem and washed their hands of me."

Myka finds herself shocked by all of this. She sits up a little taller. “But you were a minor, didn’t you need a guardian?"

Helena gives a smarmy smirk. "A rather unscrupulous gentleman named Marcus was paid to be my charge. He was an absolute dullard....a horrid, unscrupulous man, incredibly lazy but easily manipulated. If I offered him money, he’d agree to whatever I wanted."

“Oh." Myka, eyes wide, has no reasonable response. She nervously sips her drink.

Helena continues, an icy undertone rising in her voice. “It is no stretch of the imagination to say I was the _penultimate_ petulant teenager. Moody, bitter, impulsive; too many hormones flying about, no parental guidance, little respect for authority, and a penchant for danger with free access to money." She waves her glass purposefully, emphasizing her words, liquid occasionally spilling over the rim.

"And I was so incredibly _angry_ all of the time; I felt I had no control over _anything,_ and I resented _anyone_ forcing structure onto my life.” Breathing heavily, Helena juts out her jaw while running her tongue over her top left molars in an attempt to manage her rising anger.

Staring pointedly into the distance, she rubs her chin. "When I think back to that time, I respect some of those feelings, but have come to realize my behavior was just as abominable, if not more, than some of the entitled miscreants I was surrounded by at school. Had I actually stepped up and used my time wisely, I might not be where I am today.” Her shoulders slump and her eyes drop, all the way past the drink resting on her knee to the floor.

Clearly appalled by everything Helena's just said, Myka balks at Helena's last sentence. “Helena, you— you can’t blame yourself like that….how— how could you? I mean you hadn’t even been given time to grieve, you had no guidance, no comfort after the trauma of losing your parents and your brother. You were alone and still a child. That’s inexcusable if you ask me." She doesn't hold back the condemnation in her voice.

Myka waits for Helena to turn and face her, to respond in _any_ way, but Helena doesn’t move, eyes staying firmly down.

Myka grimaces deeply and decides to ask the question she knows she needs to ask. “So what happened to you when you were fifteen?"

Helena blinks and her head flinches back. She looks toward Myka as if broken from a trance. “I….um….as I grew older, I fell in with a rough crowd. We'd often slip out to engage in the usual teenage degenerate behavior: smoking, drinking, drugs, petty theft, and so forth. I honestly didn’t give a toss what it was as I'd convinced myself…..actually, _others_ had convinced me I was _invincible_ having survived the boat explosion. So whatever vice was presented to me, I was game.”

Helena's face hardens in a way Myka doesn't recognize…..as if she's actively fighting off any and all emotions. Her expression frightens Myka to the point that she feels she can’t engage Helena directly. She flicks her eyes toward Helena occasionally but leans away, taking a nervous gulp of her drink.

"One night when I was fifteen several of us from school met up with some local youths. We broke into a construction site, an old warehouse being demolished in a desolate part of town, and were on the roof drinking cider. Someone dared me to climb a ladder that led onto the top of the lift shaft. It was pitch dark, but I was stupid enough to do it. When I reached the top, I stood and turned to face the group triumphant. As I spun round, I lost my balance and stumbled backward right through a skylight. I fell straight down the shaft several stories, landing on my back on top of the freight car parked at the bottom. My ‘friends’ all panicked and ran. In the morning, a construction worker found me, unconscious and bleeding. While I was quite fortunate to have only broken my hip and shoulder, I was left with some deep scars from the glass, like the one you saw on my back."

As Helena relates her tale, Myka’s hand inches up to cover her increasingly gaping mouth. She thinks her face must have turned green by now as the thought of Helena lying there all night, alone and bleeding, makes her nauseous.

Helena distractedly sets down her drink and pulls up the back of her shirt up, turning to show Myka more of her scars. “They said I was lucky to not have more permanent damage, especially nerve damage. I’ve regained the feeling in most areas over time, but the cuts were quite deep."

Myka blanches at the sight, then tentatively reaches out and runs her fingers over what looks like an extension of the scar on Helena's shoulder. She shudders.

“Oh, wait, then there's this one…” Helena announces excitedly as if showing off a new pair of shoes.

Myka's eyebrows rise as high as they will go.

Helena swings around to face Myka, hastily lifting up the front of her shirt then peeling down the lip of her pants. There, at the bottom of her flat, taut stomach is a long thin scar that curls up upon both ends. She wears a proud smile as she flashes it to Myka.

Myka’s eyes widen as her mouth drops open. She involuntarily grips her own stomach tightly with her arm. “Christina…."

Helena gives an even wider smile. “Yes. There were complications since I'd previously broken my hip, so the doctors thought it best to do a cesarean."

“Aagh…” Myka can’t imagine having her stomach opened, and a tiny human pulled out.

Helena tugs her shirt back down, clearly amused at Myka's discomfort. “Do you have any scars, Myka?” She wears a look akin to an eager teenager daring Myka to answer.

“Oh, wow, well….none like, um, _yours_ …..uh, just this one from when I cut myself kinda bad with a matt knife packing boxes when I moved from Seattle to Chicago."

Myka juts her hand out and show the back of her thumb to Helena. Helena enthusiastically grabs Myka's hand, pulling it closer to her face, eyeing the scar with an avid curiosity.

“That's not a good place for a cut, on a joint like that, I bet it probably bled a lot.“ Helena's sentence runs together as she traces a finger over the former wound, determining its depth and age.

Myka feels a shiver run up her spine. "I, uh, yeah….I got three stitches and had to tape my fingers together for a few days…..but it's silly little thing compared to what you’ve been through."

Helena manually moves Myka’s thumb toward her forefinger, then away, then back again, playfully testing how the wound would move if it were open.

"So you lived in Seattle? And Chicago? But you grew up in Colorado…....tell me about you, Myka Bering." Helena places the hand on Myka’s thigh, then reclines, arms extended behind her, wearing an inviting smile and inquisitive eyes.

Myka looks down at the hand now sitting on her lap and thinks to herself, no. No, no, no, _no_ , not _me_ , _you_. I want to know what happened to _you_ , Helena. When she looks up, she’s immediately caught in the path of Helena’s adorably expectant gaze. She gives a resigned sigh, admitting to herself there is no way she can avoid the question if Helena continues looking at her like that. But be brief and to the point, Myka, get right back to Helena’s story…..

“I, uh, yeah. All those things, er, places. I grew up in Colorado and went to college there, but not for, um, art, for _library science_ , because my father said I had to 'learn something practical if he was paying for my education.’” Myka's neck stiffens and she puts on a low gruff voice.

Helena’s shoulders gently shudder and her hair sways as she lets out a snigger.

Myka gives a lopsided smirk, completely charmed by the sight of Helena laughing at her impression of her father. Suddenly the thought occurs to her Helena might be just as tipsy as she is.

"After school I wanted to get out of Colorado, so I applied to a bunch of positions all over the country. I ended up moving to Seattle for an internship at this really great small museum. I liked the venue but there was no promise of a job after my year was over, and, well, Seattle was an ok town, but I wanted to move to a bigger city. Luckily the work experience and references paid off, and the next year got a job at the MCA in Chicago, pretty much doing what I do now. I was there for three years before I moved to Providence for graduate school." Myka recites this as quickly as possible, then mentally switches gears to figure out a way to steer the conversation back to Helena.

Helena looks thoroughly amused at Myka’s obviously rehearsed diatribe detailing her history. “Forgive me if my American geography is faulty but isn’t Providence a _much_ smaller city than Chicago? Why go backward?"

Myka looks anxiously at Helena, trying to quickly think of suitable response.

“Uh, tiny, yeah. But the school there has a great reputation.” Myka sticks to facts, hoping to move things along.

Helena narrows her eyes and dons a suspicious gaze. She purses her lips and cocks her head dramatically. “And—?“ Her voice is deep.

Myka can tell Helena is not going to play nicely with this.

“I, uh, wanted to be on the east coast...eventually New York." She says this as definitively as possible and adds a little nod to indicate finality, but knows it comes out sounding weak. She's losing this battle, and she's not sure how to make a comeback for the win.

Helena sits up, then leans forward on her elbows, clasping her hands between her legs. “But there was something else….,” a mischievous sparkle rises in her eyes as she arches a brow suggestively, "....or rather _someone_ —“

Myka feels her chest tighten. Does Helena know about Sam? How could she possibly know about Sam? She nervously glances at Helena, completely disturbed to seem so transparent, then looks quickly down at her drink. She doesn’t know what to say.

“I can see it in your eyes, Myka, no use hiding. I know that look….I see it regularly at the bar." Helena angles her head down, trying to gain Myka’s attention. "Plus I'd chance the odds are very low that a woman as beautiful as yourself would remain single for the entirety of three years."

Myka's stomach flutters at Helena's compliment but then drops as she mulls over how to tell Helena about Sam. The corners of her mouth tick up as she takes a sip of her drink, eyeing Helena bashfully but apprehensively over the rim. She's worried talk of past relationships might halt whatever it is that is growing between the two of them, but realizes she'll have to tell Helena about Sam eventually. She takes a deep breath, then explains.

“There was this, uh, guy, Sam…..he was a teacher, college English, scraping together living at working part-time at different schools. We'd been together for maybe, um, two years? He really wanted a full-time teaching job, and I’d decided I wanted to go back to school for, um.....you know, art. We sort of figured only one of us would get what we wanted, so we both sent out applications and decided to see what happened." She drags a hand tensely through her curls and gives Helena a sort of strained smile.

Helena picks up her drink from the table and gives a slight nod. “But you both got positions." She lifts her glass and takes a considerable swig.

“Yeah. His was in Iowa."

“Iowa?" Helena spits out a little of her drink as she says the word. "Gah. Right. And you?" She sloppily wipes the alcohol off of her lips with the back of her hand.

“I got into a few schools, but in the end I was pretty dead set on the coming to the east coast.” Myka relays this straightforwardly with a cold resolve.

“So you split? Amicably, I hope, for your sake." Helena waves her glass lazily at the word "split."

“Well, he, uh, wanted to do the long distance thing until my school was over two years later…." The resolve in Myka's voice is waning.

“And you?” Helena’s tone holds a hint of tenderness.

“I didn’t.” Myka looks away, unable to hide the guilt in her eyes from being the one to cause another pain.

Helena picks up on Myka's cues. “Ah. But you loved him."

Myka hesitates but knows she can't lie.

“Yeah." She can't look Helena in the eye.

“And you miss him." Helena's words are soft.

Myka's arms go limp, and she focuses hard on her drink as it rests on her knee. “Sometimes, yeah. We had some good times....but the truth is we were on different paths. Neither of us would have been happy following each other where we wanted to go.” She knows splitting with Sam was the right thing to do but feels as if she is constantly fighting back the thought that it was a mistake.

She looks up at Helena, eyes full of pain and longing for something lost. "I— I know in my h-heart it was the r-right thing to do."

Myka's eyes close tightly and her head drops. She pinches the bridge of her nose, worried she can't control her emotions, afraid she’s had too much to drink. Helena must think she's a complete mess, she thinks, and she _knows_ she's just screwed up any chance of getting to know Helena better on an intimate level.

She feels the bed move and suddenly hears Helena’s voice next to her. "Look at me, Myka.”

She opens her eyes and raises her head apprehensively, not knowing what to expect.

Helena takes Myka's hand into both of hers and gazes poignantly into Myka's eyes. “Let me say this to you again, and this time I hope you will take it to heart. _You_ are an extraordinary woman, Myka Bering."

Myka's eyes soften, and she sets down her scotch. She places her newly emptied hand on top of Helena’s and grips them tightly, suddenly feeling on the verge of tears. Her mind races through the last few years, breaking up with Sam, leaving the comfort of their apartment and her job, starting over again not knowing anyone in Providence, then, at the drop of a hat, picking up and moving to New York, where _everything_ she owned was recently taken away from her in an unbelievable act of fate. And while none of it compares to what Helena’s been through, she can’t help feeling selfish and mourning her own loss right now.

Myka begins to sob, quietly at first, staring fervently at their intertwined hands. Her chest hitches and she starts to tremble.

Helena releases Myka's hands and pulls her effortlessly into a hug, wrapping her arms sympathetically around Myka's shoulders.

Myka leans into Helena and slips her arms around Helena's torso, holding on to her tightly, letting her emotions loose, weeping openly on Helena's shoulder.

Helena tilts her head so that it touches Myka’s and soothingly combs her fingers through the back of Myka's curls. She waits a few moments, then whispers reassuringly into Myka's ear, “It’s all going to be alright, Myka. _You_ are going to be alright, of that I am certain……"

Myka pulls back, viewing Helena almost savagely through reddened and glassy eyes.

Helena cups Myka’s chin and runs her thumb lovingly over Myka's cheek, wiping away tears.

Helena's eyes convey a sense of well-practiced calm, but Myka finds it's not enough to assuage her fears. She thinks to herself she’s been putting off dealing with her imminent move for far too long; she’s not prepared in the slightest for what’s to come. And, _and_ , could this whole Helena obsession just be a coping mechanism, a distraction from dealing with the reality of her life? Is she projecting her anxiety onto Helena? Maybe Helena sees all of this and will be happy to have her out of her hair soon.

As she gazes anxiously into Helena's piercing dark eyes, she admits to herself she sees nothing written in them but solace. Her chest loosens as words begin to spill from her lips.

“Thursday night, Helena. I’m moving into my new apartment _Thursday night_. Like, a _week_ from now. And it— it's this big empty box, and I have _nothing_ to fill it with. And— _and_ — I’m scared. Scared because once I leave your apartment everything is going to be real, this whole ordeal, the explosion, my job….I don't know, _New York_ , just— _everything_. It’s all going to be real, and I’m going to be alone, in a room, with some nondescript furniture and a lamp, reading a magazine I stole from work….." Myka looks away, nostrils flaring, panic in her eyes, desperately holding back the urge to cry again. “….. _God,_ Helena, I sound like such a selfish brat, I mean after everything you just told me about _you_ …..” She looks away, eyes watery, hand covering her mouth.

“Myka— look at me…...” Helena's inflection is sharp, but not callous.

Myka turns hastily back to Helena, eyes near to bursting with tears.

“ _Myka_ ….” Helena fills her name with pure affection. She cocks her head and reaches out, using a nimble finger to tenderly place a curl behind Myka’s ear, hand trailing down to rest on Myka’s shoulder. “….. _you_ are an incredibly strong person. And you’ve done an extraordinary job of keeping yourself together thus far. I’ve watched you Myka and I _know_ that you have a sense of self-worth, that you know who you are inside of _here_ …..,” she places her hand reverently over Myka’s heart.

"….people, places, _objects_ need not define you. You are _not_ going to let this bend in the road stop you from getting to where you want to be, all right?" Helena's tone is truthful, bold, finite. She withdraws her hand from Myka’s chest slowly.

Myka takes in a deep, shaky breath and wipes the tears from her eyes. She tries to focus on Helena’s face and feels the look Helena gives is so earnest, so pleading, that the least she can do attempt to think rationally about what Helena just said.

Helena takes Myka’s hands into hers. “Myka, your life here is just beginning. And you can’t deny things are happening for you, _positive_ things. There is _so_ much more out there for you....I can _feel_ it.” She squeezes Myka’s hands tightly and gives them a shake. “ _Do not_ be pulled under by the weight of moments that will be inconsequential in the end. Move _forward_. And if you can’t muster the courage to do it for yourself, do it for me.” Her eyes beam with compassion.

Myka sniffs deeply and sits up a little straighter. Her eyes brighten a shade. “So you’re going to guilt trip me into not being a mess about this?”

A gratified smile takes over Helena's face. “Exactly. Yes. And I’ll have you know I am quite persistent once I set my mind to something.” She squeezes one of Myka's hands tightly while reaching up with the other to wipe an errant tear from Myka’s cheek.

Myka's lips turn up sightly as she shyly looks away. “Helena I’m so sorry, I— I don’t know what came over me. Maybe I’ve had a little too much scotch….."

Helena's tone sobers. “Or maybe my story triggered some your repressed feelings. I think we should stop for now, get some rest.”

Helena attempts to withdraw her hand from Myka's, but Myka won’t let go, gripping it tighter, possessively pulling it closer. She stares at their intertwined hands with parted lips, running a thumb lovingly over the side of Helena’s finger. She thinks to herself no, _no_ , she _doesn’t_ want to rest. What she wants is the _opposite_ of rest. She wants….. _more_. More of whatever Helena is willing to give…..whatever she can _pull_ out of Helena tonight, because it suddenly becomes crystal clear tonight is _it_. Tomorrow, after work, she leaves for Abigail's, and when she returns late on Monday _everything_ will have shifted, her life will move fast-forward in a blur. And she knows she's completely powerless to stop it.

Twisting Helena's wrist, she gently inspects a mild but fresh looking cut, running from Helena's knuckles diagonally down. She lifts the hand up for closer inspection and trails her thumb delicately over the wound. She wonders where it came from, then her mind is drawn back to the point where Helena’s story left off.

Helena tugs her hand back, but Myka holds on even tighter, eyes fixated on the cut. She absently mouths “Helena?” and in a voice filled with pure conviction asks, “….tell me what happened after your accident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Helena post-accident and beyond
> 
> P.S. I also just wanted to say thank you if you are still reading this....I feel like it's taken quite some time for me to build this world that M+H are inhabiting, and I know there are a lot of details still floating about that need to be resolved. Rest assured more puzzle pieces are forthcoming, but the story, on the whole, is on the downward slope.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena post-accident and beyond-ish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update is a little later than usual - I was out of town and I wanted to put both 14+15 up at the same time.

——————————————

> _Cities are ... distinguished by the catastrophic forms they presuppose and which are a vital part of their essential charm. New York is King Kong, or the blackout, or vertical bombardment: Towering Inferno. Los Angeles is the horizontal fault, California breaking off and sliding into the Pacific: Earthquake._  
>  -Jean Baudrillard

\------------------------

Myka decides the alcohol coursing through her veins must be responsible for the sudden wave of clarity she feels washing over her. She makes a promise to herself, no more breakdowns, no more distractions, stay on topic, keep Helena talking. And this teenage crush she’s harboring on Helena…..or whatever she wants to call it…..well, it’s _completely_ irrelevant right now because truthfully nothing romantic may ever happen between the two of them. Which is ok, she thinks, really, _fine_ , because at this point, if she's completely honest with herself, what she wants more than _anything_ is to stay relevant in Helena and Christina's life, to become someone Helena can lean on, someone Helena feels she can trust. Everything else seems superfluous.

Myka's eyes float up from Helena's hand, catching Helena’s gaze momentarily, then shifting, searching Helena’s face as if seeing it anew. She traces the lines radiating from the corner of Helena's eye and notes they seem deeper than usual; her lids droop lethargically, her lips are drained of color, her face, gaunt. It troubles Myka to think she’s just now noticing the depth of Helena’s weary state, but she decides, since they’ve come this far tonight, maybe it can’t hurt to push a little farther, right? She _really_ wants to know how Helena coped while recovering, why she decided to study in America, and, for the big finish, maybe….even….who Christina's father is.

Once her thoughts are in order, Myka's consciousness snaps into the present and she realizes just how tightly she’s been holding Helena’s hand. She releases her grip slowly, then glances at the coffee table, ultimately deciding to pick up her drink. Throwing caution to the wind, she downs the remaining contents like a shot, all the while eyeing Helena over the rim. Her face pinches sharply as the liquid burns a path down her throat.

Helena withdraws her arm cautiously, gaze fixed on Myka as she swallows. Her focus shifts briefly to the cut on her hand, and she introspectively tilts her head as she examines its form. Sucking in her bottom lip, she absently reaches up to massage a spot on the back of her neck, then drops her arm limply and turns toward Myka, eyes exuding defeat. 

“After the accident, I—,” Helena inhales pensively as she laces her fingers together on her lap, “—I was in the hospital, then in rehab, for months on end. In the beginning, I had so many stitches I could barely move without being in severe pain. The medication I was on caused these lucid dreams, often involving my family and traveling. At times, I’d wake up in a panic, screaming about the explosion….I suddenly felt as if water was all around me, and I was floating, watching helplessly as the boat burned in the distance.” She clenches her jaw as her expression hardens.

Myka's stomach involuntarily tightens as she's already beginning to regret forcing Helena further down this traumatizing path. Her confidence wavers, but she tells herself she started this, therefore, needs to see it through. She pauses, taking a moment to find the right words to steer the conversation forward. 

“Was….,” she places a hand gently on Helena’s shoulder, “—was there anyone there to comfort you?” 

Helena breathes out a weighted breath and stares at her intertwined hands, running a thumb anxiously over her forefinger. "The nurses tried, to a certain extent, but after awhile I think they were at a loss. They weren’t particularly inclined to help due to cause my injuries. Many of them thought I was estranged from my family due to my insolence, that I was an uncontrollable teenager and therefore not worth their effort. I’d often overhear their gossip….things like, ’I heard her family’s rolling in it, probably serves her right for being a massive cock-up’ or, ‘such a pretty girl, too bad she’s not right in the head.' I swore when could move properly again I’d throttle the lot of them.” 

Her expression turns to stone, clearly holding back the pain of rejection. She moves her hands to the edge of the bed and grips it tightly, leaning forward, away from Myka’s touch, looking pointedly down. 

Myka’s chest suddenly feels heavy, weighted, and she reluctantly pulls her arm away. She stares with compassion at Helena’s crumpled form, unsure of how to proceed. “Helena, I’m— I'm so sorry. No one came to visit you?"

Helena gives a weak shrug as she lets out a single acerbic snicker. “Marcus, once, but only once, out of duty.” She half turns her head and angles her eyes toward Myka. "In the end I had a case worker assigned to me, an advocate so to speak ….an odd man named Caturanga, who dressed as if he dropped in from the nineteenth century.” Helena’s lips form a slight but warm smirk. 

Myka feels the tension in the air lighten as she notes this small shift in Helena’s demeanor.

"At first I was stubborn, I wouldn’t talk at all….I thought all adults were fools, or they wanted my money. But Caturanga would not be put off, he just kept showing up. Some days he’d sit for a half an hour, not talking at all. Others he’d read stories aloud since it was difficult for me to hold a book.” Helena's posture perks up, and she thoughtlessly picks at the edge of the blanket.

"One day he brought a chess board and set it up next to the bed. He made a move, then sat back. As the minutes passed, I found it difficult to not make a move of my own. We played silently at first, but occasionally he’d offer advice or correct me if I’d made an errant move. Most frustratingly, he _always_ won, so I began to listen, and little by little I began to talk.” She looks over at Myka with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, face shining a littler brighter than before.

"And much to my surprise Caturanga actually listened to what I was saying and never treated me like an ignorant child. We talked about how my unique history played a part in my proclivity for insubordination and lack of respect for authority. He understood that I was intelligent but broken, that I’d been lost in the system, abandoned by the ideals I was brought up to believe in, and unable, due to my age and the powers that be, to find my way on my own.” Helena’s voice becomes more animated.

"His questions and solutions to problems were often…..unorthodox. I found him more like my parents than most other adults, which was compelling. He challenged me, _forced_ me think outside the box and would not accept trite adolescent answers. He was utterly frustrating at times but endlessly fascinating.” Helena rests her hands quietly on her knees, palms down, and turns to Myka, lips curling at the ends, eyes sparkling with wonder. 

Myka returns the smile, feeling a sense of relief that something finally seems to be going right for Helena. “Sooo….what happened after you got out of the hospital?"

Helena wets her lips and continues eagerly. "I eventually came to recognize my self-destructive tendencies for what they were; a distraction, denial, et cetera….and took the stages of grief to heart. Caturanga pushed me to think hard about who I was, not as someone without a family, but as the _product_ of my family, and to use that knowledge to consider what I could make of myself if I set my mind to it."

Helena’s face lights up as she relays her epiphany moment. "I realized I was happiest when traveling, as my family spent years traveling. _This_ was the environment where I thrived. Therefore, I decided once I was released from the hospital; I'd take the money and run, just like my parents.” Helena gives a solid nod.

Myka looks on incredulously. This was _not_ the answer she was expecting, but thinks she should know by now to not expect the expected from Helena. “Really? And Cataranga was ok with this?"

Helena leans back, propping herself up with her arms, hair smoothly slipping behind her shoulders, looking overall a bit more at ease. She smiles thoughtfully. "Strangely enough he was. Not that he was able to officially write it down or anything. But I think he knew I’d do a _much_ better job taking care of myself if I were on my own. Unlike here in America, in England one can leave school at sixteen. So the plan was I’d travel and come back in a year or two and reassess my options."

Myka pauses, taking a second to recall her own life at sixteen. She’d just gotten her license, but was barely allowed to drive an hour away to Denver by herself. Her first kiss was awkward affair, with a boy, at a school dance. She realizes now, had that boy, instead, been the girl she clearly had a crush on in French class, she may have felt differently. She worked in her parents store without question, although she’d complain endlessly. And she constantly fought with her little sister over trivial things like taking out the trash. The idea of living on her own at sixteen, even with access to money, seems incomprehensible to her. 

She mulls over the details of Helena’s situation, and decides something doesn’t quite add up, “But you weren’t technically _in_ school until you were sixteen, because the accident, right?"

Helena looks away guiltily. “Ahh, well….Caturanga helped me make the arrangements….I have no knowledge of the particulars. He also made a deal with Marcus so that I’d have access to money as I traveled, keeping my family well out of the equation. Marcus was compensated handsomely of course.” She grimaces momentarily.

Myka’s brow wrinkles. “So wait, you really just traveled by yourself all over Europe when you were sixteen?” She still can’t seem to grasp how that’s possible.

“Yes, I did. I visited my grandparents in Wales first, then floated around for a long while staying at hostels, communal houses, and occasionally bunking on sleeper trains. Or I’d camp out in a field or a train station if need be. And if I found myself somewhere I couldn’t readily access the money, I’d look for cash-in-hand jobs, and usually I’d be able to find somewhere to stay….to be honest the accent often worked in my favor as I sounded rather polite.” Her tone becomes even posher.

Myka’s eyebrows shoot up. “A field? Like, with cows? Really?"

Helena gives a silent chuckle. “You buy a tent and a map and try to not be foolish about your movements. And ask others for advice as you go. I met many travelers along the way, people backpacking across Europe and the like, families living off the grid, kids who’d run away or had no home. And remember, I had access to money, which gave me a sense of security many of the folks I encountered were not privy to."

Myka nods her head up and down. “Right.” She still doesn’t really get it. What if it's raining, and you’re in a field in a tent and there's nowhere dry to go? Even the thought makes her shiver.

"As I traveled, I sought out some of my parents friends from our houseboat days. Many of them would take me in for a spell in exchange for work. I found I was quite competent at understanding the mechanics of things, and would often be able to help others on the docks fix their boats. Plus keeping busy— feeling _helpful,_ kept my mind off of my loss. In the end I was fortunate enough to stay for several months with one particular family on a houseboat in Barcelona. I helped them with their children and picked up some Spanish."

“Ahh," Myka thinks. "More puzzle pieces." She gives a lopsided smirk accordingly.

"But as time wore on, I couldn’t help feeling I was spinning my wheels, and essentially, in a vaguely parallel way, following in my father’s footsteps of living the life of the gentry, of doing nothing in particular. But I knew my funds were not limitless, that I needed to do something with myself; I needed a _purpose_.” Helena’s voice is insistent, determined.

Myka chimes in enthusiastically. “So….what did you decide do next?” She really has no idea at this point and has stopped trying to guess.

Helena raises a clever brow. "Marcus once casually mentioned I should ‘check in’ when I turned eighteen, as there was rumored to be a large inheritance left by my uncle George, the one who I’m named after. So I endeavored to do that."

Myka leans in a little closer to Helena. “Was there a trust?"

Helena lists toward Myka. "Yes. Uncle George had no children of his own, and thankfully had set up a trust fund for Charles and I before he died."

"That's great, right?” Myka's expression brightens, then dims as she thinks something must have gone wrong because the Helena she’s looking at right now… _definitely_ not living off a trust.

Helena smiles reassuringly at Myka. "It was, yes. And _this_ money was my own, not inherently tied to my remaining family or Marcus. Quite frankly it was the boost I needed to move forward."

Myka’s shoulders relax. 

Helena explains. “I moved to London and with a little help from Caturanga sorted out the best way to get a proper education." Helena's eyes turn wistful. "I do hope to someday be able to repay that man for all he’s done for me. Without him, I truthfully have no clue where I’d be." She runs a hand absent-mindedly through her hair as her lips curl up humbly. 

Myka's lips curl too, glad that Helena seems more at ease.

"It took me two years of proper schooling to get to a place where I could apply for decent colleges. I decided I wanted to start over, to go somewhere unfamiliar and unknown, so I thought America seemed a good fit. I'd actually never been there before, so it sounded exotic. I wanted something very liberal, but competitive, with interdisciplinary options - somewhere that would have made my parents proud. I’d gotten into a few schools and miraculously one of them was Stanford. I accepted sight unseen." 

Myka chuckles. “America, exotic, really? After everywhere you’d been….." 

Helena dons a cheeky a smirk. “California was like an oasis at first, Myka, quite unlike anywhere I'd ever been before. And Americans…..” she gives an eye roll and shakes her head back and forth with tiny strokes, “….I could _not_ have dreamed you lot up. I’d, of course, met Americans while traveling, but being immersed in your culture was _unreal._ At first I felt like an alien dropped from outer space directly into a film...."

Helena flicks her eyes up and down, scanning Myka thoroughly.

Myka draws back slightly, suddenly feeling as if she’s being assessed, imagining Helena must be deciding whether or not to choose her as the poster child for all Americans. She pinches her face, looking playfully annoyed.

Helena acquiesces with a warm smile, then clears her throat.

"Though in some ways being a foreigner and completely out of my comfort zone was helpful for me. I mostly kept to myself and studied hard, excelled at what I undertook, got good grades. Having access to the labs meant I could work on my own projects outside of classes. I found immersing myself in my work was incredibly satisfying. And I felt good about myself in a way I hadn't since before the boat." Helena's eyes shine.

"I met Claudia my sophomore year; we were roommates in the halls. At first I wanted nothing to do with her…as a sixteen-year-old she seemed far too immature, too much of a distraction. But once I learned she'd also lost her parents at a young age and was bounced around the foster system for most of her life, I felt compelled to step in and help. And she was absolutely _brilliant_ though more than a little rough around the edges." 

Helena pauses briefly, lost in memories. "I have to admit she reminded me a little of myself at that age.” She looks down while shaking her head back and forth; lips curled up knowingly.

"But luckily she also had a mentor, a rather gruff man named Arthur who had taken her under his wing at her school and somehow gotten her into Stanford. Claudia and I soon became fast friends though I found myself more than once keeping her out of trouble."

Myka gives a lopsided smirk and a terse snigger. She imagines Claudia was quite the handful.

As she processes this new information, Myka’s brow lowers. "OK, so if Claudia is twenty-six now, and you were a sophomore when she was sixteen, and you enter college at…,” she angles her eyes to the side in thought, “….umm….twenty, and Christina is eight…., “ her eyes dart back to Helena, “….that means you had her when you were twenty-three, and, like, still at Stanford, right? Unless you graduated early…..” Myka tilts her head while looking expectantly at Helena.

Helena purses her lips, but the ends tick up playfully. "Mmmm, I see we are quite the number cruncher, aren’t we, Myka." Her words drag a little as her tone turns sleepy.

Myka is startled out of her computations by Helena’s words. "OH, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, but since you’ve brought me this far……” She puts on her most persuasive smile.

Helena smirks knowingly. "You’d like to know who Christina’s father is." She says this with a well-worn lilt. 

Myka looks down shyly and fidgets with her hands. "Well, um, oh.....not, uh, _specifically_ if you, like, don’t want to go there but, um, yeah?” Her eyes glow with a genuine interest that she hopes Helena finds hard to resist.

Helena lifts a hand to rub her temple. "It's not Claudia if that's what you're thinking….” She throws Myka a humored but strained smile while viewing her through squinted eyes.

Myka chuckles. "Oh, very funny. Of course no.....t….” Her speech slows as she notes Helena's headache seems to have returned. She instantaneously offers to help. “Hey, why don't we sit further back on the couch, er, bed. You can lie on some pillows, maybe that will help your headache?" 

Before Helena can respond, Myka scrambles to the back of the bed and arranges her pillows neatly in a corner. She turns to Helena wearing a look of achievement and gives the pile a pat.

Helena watches with interest, then scoots back and reclines so that her neck is supported by the pillows. She lets out a satisfying groan, sinking ever further down. “Ahh. Lovely, Myka. Good idea. Thank you." 

Myka recedes into the adjacent corner of the sofa bed and leans back. "I'm sorry I didn't think of that earlier.” 

Helena lies silent for a moment eyes closed, face going slack.

Myka looks on eagerly, patiently waiting for Helena to continue, but admits Helena now looks as if she might just pass out entirely. "Helena, you don’t have to....."

Helena raises a hand dismissively. "But yet, for you, Myka, I will. Just give me a moment."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Obvious no?
> 
> Oh and - that Baudrillard quote….I think it sums up this whole story. French philosophers….sigh.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Helena’s story regarding Christina’s father. Myka’s morning before leaving for Providence to visit Abigail. And…back to our regularly scheduled Myka pining away for Helena._

—————————

> _“There is something in the New York air that makes sleep useless.”_  
>  ― Simone de Beauvoir  
> 

\-----------------

Helena’s eyes snap open, and she blinks several times. She quickly glances over at Myka, then looks up at the ceiling pensively. Taking in a deep breath, she then begins.

“I— don’t actually know."

Myka narrows her eyes. "You don’t actually know… _what_?"

"Who Christina’s father is.” Helena purses her lips.

“Helena…..how could you—how could you _not_ know?” Myka barks out in disbelief.

Helena sinks a little further into the pillows and glances down at her hands that lie intertwined on her stomach. “He was tall and marginally handsome though it was dark. Further details were not of interest to me at the time."

Myka pauses, mouth slightly agape, feeling, at first, a pang of jealousy toward this unnamed man for his ability to be intimate with Helena, then a wave of anger over the fact that Helena would sleep with someone and not even know his name.

Suddenly words are falling out of her mouth without any forethought. “Didn’t you use….I mean…weren’t you on…..” she looks toward Helena incredulously, “…..you didn’t just, like, without….because I can’t imagine…..” she shakes her head a little.

Maybe it’s inappropriate to ask but, Myka thinks, but she’s too tired to filter her thoughts right now. And since she’s given up on the fantasy that Helena has any romantic inclinations toward her, she might as well just say what’s on her mind. 

Helena turns her head slightly, and eyes Myka with a resigned smirk. “I see I’ve obviously hit a nerve. I _do_ apologize….."

“—Helena….” Myka tries to fill her voice with a little more consideration. 

Helena sighs. "To be honest, men, in general, have never held much interest for me as sexual partners. So in answer to your questions, no, I wasn’t ‘on’ anything, but yes, I did use ‘something,’ I was old enough to know how to take care of myself, though obviously there was a flaw even in that logic.” Helena’s voice takes on a certain sense of propriety as if stating she’d done nothing wrong but circumstances proved out of her control. 

At Helena’s admission, Myka’s heart quickens as a lump forms in her throat. Eyes widening, she immediately repeats the mantra, “You can never be too careful,” thinking _here_ is the proof that she’s _always_ been right. Even with a long term partner like Sam, she’s eternally been terrified of accidentally getting pregnant, of thinking if it happened it’d somehow be her fault. Glancing over at Helena, who seems unfazed, she suddenly realizes this is her own phobia speaking and feels ashamed she's judging Helena based on her own standards. Looking away guiltily, she twists a curl around a finger.

Helena continues, her tone turning guarded, factual. “It may be worth stating at this juncture that, contrary to appearances, I’ve never found the idea of promiscuity particularly appealing. I know I flirt and manipulate at times, often unknowingly, but must admit it’s the _chase_ I find intriguing. Once caught, I quickly loose interest.” Her words turn flippant.

Myka feels her stomach fall flat at Helena’s statement. She imagines she's felt the chase; the being reeled in, and now, here’s the drop. Closing her eyes, she reminds herself of the promise she made earlier tonight - stay focused, no amorous feelings, let Helena tell her story, but now needs to add - don’t take anything Helena says personally.

She opens her eyes, breathes in and takes stock of her present state, recognizing she’s not only tired but inebriated, and everything is turning a little fuzzy. And honestly it’s too damn hard to hold back her feelings right now. She decides, after this little pep talk, that she’s not going let Helena off the hook that easily. 

“Ok, say I believe you…then what…….,” Myka looks briefly in the direction of Christina’s room.

Helena looks toward Christina’s room concurrently. “Let me explain the circumstances.”

Myka eyes Helena cautiously and settles back into her corner of the sofa bed, hunkering down for further clarification.

Helena gazes blankly at the ceiling. “It’d be all too easy for me to say I was young and naive, and while in some ways that was true, it’s not completely accurate. I knew what I was doing; it was calculated but I perhaps foolishly decided to ignore the risk."

She licks her lips, then twists her neck to face Myka. “Do you like music, Myka?"

Myka skeptically wrinkles her brow, unsure of where Helena could be going with this. “Uh, yeah, sure, I guess.” 

Helena narrows her eyes. “But is there music that _moves_ you, Myka, brings forth emotions buried deep down inside. It could be anything, Bach, Hendrix, Taylor Swift….."

“Um…..,” Myka searches her mind of an answer but comes up blank. She’s sure there is something she could say, but Helena continues before she speaks up.

“….. at an early age I’d experienced a multitude of musical genres, as my parents took us to festivals all over Europe. At first I’d accompany them to performances, but as I grew older, they let me wander off on my own. I quickly became fascinated with the variety of sounds I chanced upon.” Helena’s voice turns passionate and wistful.

“There was one trend in particular I found tangential to most everything else we’d encountered. It occurred in the evening or late at night, off in a tent to the side or on the main stage after all the bands had played. There were no live instruments, but instead a singular person playing records, mixing them seamlessly together.” 

Myka shifts, sinking further into the bed in an attempt to get more comfortable, deciding Helena must be telling this elaborate preamble for a reason.

"This wasn’t the popular music from the radio, nor the music my parents listened to while we were growing up. Something about the mechanicalness of it, the clean electronic sounds, and the driving rhythms stuck with me. So as we traveled, I began to seek this phenomenon out.” Helena turns her attentions back to the ceiling.

“Little did I know at age twelve in nineteen ninety-five that nearly everyone present dancing was off their kit on drugs. In my naivety, I was able to enjoy the music unaltered for what it could do…it lifted me up then gently set me back down again over the course the evening. The music itself was my drug, and needless to say I was hooked. And the beauty of it was that it could be found wherever we went, the experience seemed to transcend place. I felt connected to a larger consciousness in a way I’d not felt before.”

Helena’s enthusiastic tone abruptly turns distant.

“After my parents had died, and I was back in England, I’d hoped to recreate that feeling by sneaking out to warehouse parties, but nothing ever came close. That purity I once felt, that connection to the higher plane created by the music was gone, erased forever I thought. But that changed one night when I was twenty-three..."

Helena glances over at Myka to make sure she’s still listening.

Myka gives slight nod and an encouraging smirk.

"At the end of the semester my junior year, Claudia _begged_ me to come with her and her friends to a massive three-day music festival in Southern California, her excuse being I’d just finished my exams and had nothing better to do. These were comparatively carefree days, I had little responsibilities beyond school, so I thought why not. We drove for ages and camped in tents on the grounds."

Helena scoots up, propping her neck up on the pillows, turning to fully face Myka as she speaks.

"I hadn’t been to a festival in years, and never to one in America. There seemed to be so many more rules, yet I found the atmosphere familiar, almost comforting, and, for the most part, had a lovely time. The last evening I had trouble sleeping, as Claudia and her friends were driving me up the wall with their chatter. I decided to leave them to it and have a look round and entered the separate area for over twenty-ones, as I hadn't all weekend. I got myself a drink and sat down, enjoying the comparative quiet." 

"There was a tent not far away that people were coming in and out of that caught my eye. Drinks were not permitted outside of the designated area at this festival, so I finished my beer and went over to have a look-see."

Helena turns her head to up, away from Myka, eyes closing slowly as she sinks into the bed, obviously immersing herself in the memory. “The closer I got, the louder the thumping bass became. I slipped inside and saw there was a DJ on stage, smoke pumping from all sides, lights spinning around the entire dance floor. And the music was already loud enough you could feel it in your bones, even while hovering on the periphery. The event was just getting started, and I stood in the back for a long while taking it all in before deciding to get myself another drink.” 

Myka can see a satisfied grin growing on Helena’s face, even from the side.

"I checked in fifteen minutes or so later and the crowd had doubled. The beat was driving, and everyone was dancing, more and more people joined in by the minute. As I stood surveying the scene from the side, I could feel an uplifting vibe reverberating from the crowd, and all at once something began to stir inside of me....that carefree youth I’d buried oh so long ago was begging to be let loose. Slowly my feet started to move on their own…..then the DJ put on a classic tune I recognized, and at the sound of the rising piano I couldn’t resist any longer. Suddenly I was out in the middle the floor, immersed in the crowd, utterly free, letting the rhythm guide me….and for the first time in years I felt truly alive. With the bass pounding in my chest, trousers wagging, I closed my eyes and let the crescendo of the music lift my heavy heart." 

Helena turns to Myka with a wild abandon in her eyes. "Do you have any idea the energy that can come off of a crowd like that, Myka?"

Myka flinches back, a little scared of Helena’s weighty tone. “I— I can’t say I do…..I mean I wouldn’t know the music…"

Helena’s eyes light up, and a genuine enthusiasm fills her voice. "That’s the _beauty_ of it, Myka, you don’t have to know anything about it to enjoy it. If the DJ is doing their job, they’re leading you on a journey, toying with your emotions, driving you into a frenzy then guiding you back down to a comfortable level of calm. And all the while the crowd is shouting, whistling, jumping, _moving_ with an energy so focused, so directed, it's intoxicating. And you want that energy to take you, hold you, and never let you go.” Emotions high, she breathes in a deep, slightly quivering breath.

“I’d been so tightly wound at the time, so self-disciplined for so very long….once I let go I was _desperate_ to feel— feel even _more_ connected—“ Helena self-consciously angles her eyes away from Myka, ”…. and truthfully, it really didn’t matter to whom, anyone nearby would have done.” Her tone carries a drollness that attempts to downplay the shock value held in her words.

Myka’s eyes go wide. She thinks she gets it, but still, how impetuously reckless of Helena to do such a thing.

Helena glances over at Myka and upon noting Myka’s disdain, her face seems to soften. She cocks her head and wets her lips, “I’ve never thought of myself as particularly gullible, Myka, but I'll admit I was young and somewhat inexperienced. I thought to myself what could it hurt, I deserved a release. And the idea didn’t seem that far-fetched, as I’d known others who based the principles of their lives upon choosing to forego attachments, therefore avoiding complications. Also, I was pursuing the matter on my own terms, not being coerced by my peers.....though obviously I was being rather short-sighted about the possible consequences….."

“—and so you just sort of grabbed someone and….um, like, _connected_?” Myka blurts this out though she doesn’t mean it to sound as harsh as it does.

“Precisely.” Helena tries to fill the word with integrity but is obviously shaken by Myka’s tone.

Myka _knows_ she's being judgmental, and Helena is right, everyone should have the freedom to live their lives the way they so choose, but she can’t seem to hide the slight outrage in her voice. Her gut tells her Helena's actions lie heavy on her heart, and that Helena has not chosen to move forward with her life without attachments. Not. At. All. Christina is the proof.

"So you really have no idea……,” Myka’s eyebrows angle in and up as far as they can go.

Helena puts on a cool, factual tone. “I wasn't interested in introductions and we didn't go back to his tent. The encounter was far from romantic…. _awkward_ would describe it best. And afterward, I was more concerned with getting back to Claudia before she thought I’d gone missing than anything else. I certainly was not telling her what I’d been up to.” 

Myka stares at Helena incredulously as she mulls over the consequences. “Oh God, Helena. What did you tell Christina?"

Helena angles her eyes away guiltily. “I—,” she purses her lips, “—well she needed something to tell her friends at school so I— I’ve told her that he was lovely man I met in college, but things between us didn’t work out, and he had to move far away for work.” Her head droops down, "I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to tell her when she’s older. And I’m afraid she’ll hate me once she knows the truth.” She closes her eyes and leans back into the pillows.

“Helena, that little girl could never hate you…..” Myka voice is full of empathy.

Helena cuts her off. “….if she has _any_ of me in her when she reaches her teens, she’ll learn her she has quite the capacity for hate.” Her words are filled with self-loathing and bitterness. 

Myka tries to move the conversation forward. "Did you, like, ever look for him?"

Helena huffs out a dismissive breath, eyes dark and full of cynicism. "It was a massive festival, Myka. Claudia was determined, but all of her investigating came up null. Honestly, I'm not that bothered. Except for Christina's sake.” She looks ruefully towards Christina’s room.

“Really?” Myka is genuinely surprised by this.

"Not the kind of situation I wanted to be involved in. I’m quite happy with the way things are, fewer complications all round. And at the time, I was far more concerned with the projects I was working on and finishing my degree with high marks. Everything else was simply a distraction."

Myka narrows her eyes feeling this answer is rather dubious. "Then how did having a kid fit into your plans?"

“Quite honestly it didn’t." Helena twists to fully to engage Myka. "But I was not a planned child either, and I didn’t have the heart to……,” she stops for a moment as if gathering her thoughts, then moistens her lips, “….I thought even though my parents wouldn’t approve of how it happened, they’d be proud that I’d decided to take responsibility for my actions. Claudia, on the other hand, was livid.” Helena’s lips form a roguish smirk.

“I can imagine.” Myka’s brows meet in the middle.

“She’s obviously changed her mind since then,” Helena’s smirk turns into a proud grin and her eyes light up a little.

Myka can’t help but return the gesture, and thinks how incredibly pure this woman's emotions can be when she lets them out. It’s blinding, and it somehow it makes her heart feel lighter.

“So how did you handle being pregnant and your final year of school?” Myka looks over at Helena eagerly.

Helena leans back into the pillows. “As you can imagine, I hadn’t a clue how difficult being pregnant would be, nor having a newborn whist in the midst of thesis year. I decided to take a leave of absence during my fall semester, but fully intended to finish the next year once I was more sorted.” 

Myka’s expression sobers. “But I’m guessing, from your tone that something happened….."

Helena’s mouth downturns sharply. “Soon after Christina was born, as if my by magic, my trust fund disappeared.” She sighs deeply, releasing the air from her nose slowly.

“W—what?” Myka sits up a little taller in disbelief.

"Apparently my uncle had lost a considerable amount of capital in stocks and was desperate for cash. Due to a technical difficulty with the way the trust was worded, his lawyers were able to wrangle control of my money. Rather ironically, in the end, my uncle was unable to access it, at least not for his own purposes. Hence the money is still there, in legal limbo, and presently no one can touch it.” Helena’s scowl is profound.

Mouth slightly agape, Myka soldiers on. "What did you do?"

"I tried to fight it, but left with little money I hadn’t much recourse. Plus I was completely overwhelmed as a new mother. I had no choice but to drop the matter and move forward the best I could on my own." 

“And school?” Myka is worried what happened next.

Helena’s voice turns heavyhearted. "I couldn’t afford to go back to Stanford, but I tried to keep my student visa while working as much as possible. I started in tech jobs, but it was impossible to keep the hours they do with small infant. Claudia and I had hatched a few schemes of our own, but nothing came to fully to fruition. Over time, work became more generic, following regular schedules and unfortunately offering less pay."

Myka’s posture slumps as a deep sadness for Helena takes over her. She leans further back into the corner of the couch.

"Claudia finished her degree early and was onto her post-doc. She was already freelancing in tech and making, in her words, "more money than she needed.” She helped us out tremendously then, and continues to do so now.” Helena’s expression turns somber. "I’m not sure what I’d have done without her…..she is the sister I never had, and together we are the family neither one of us ever had. So when she moved to New York for work we moved with her.” Helena expressly looks away. 

"And now, we are all here."

There is a pause.

Myka's thoughts are reeling as she feels this is too much information for her to process right now in her intoxicated, dehydrated and drowsy state. Several moments pass before a question she meant to ask earlier randomly pops into her mind. She decides to speak up before letting the both of them get some sleep.

Helena's eyes are closed tightly.

“Helena?"

“Hmm?"

“Are you asleep?"

“Mmmm. Not quite….yet…alcohol….sleepy…."

Helena opens her eyes just enough to form small slits and angles them toward Myka. She lifts her head slightly and blinks, then clears her throat. “You should sleep in my bed tonight, Myka. Frankly, I do not want to move ever again.” She closes her eyes and sinks further back into the pillows.

“Um, ok.” The thought absently crosses Myka's mind that what she really wants is to cozy up to Helena right then and there, but it would be inappropriate if Christina found them like that in the morning.

She forces herself back on topic. “The, um, scratch on the back of your hand….did you go to work today even though you said you were going to rest?"

“Mmm. I….I worked…yes…..somewhere…..……."

There is a lull, then Helena finishes her sentence.

“…….don’t……."

"…….tell……."

"…….Claudia."

“Why….?” Myka immediately replies with a blink, but Helena is already out, snoring softly.

Myka feels the bed move and turns to find a sleepily blinking Dewy the cat. Eyeing Myka first, then Helena, he toddles in Helena’s direction and climbs in between her legs. He then kneads the bed, turning around three times, before settling into a neatly curled ball. 

“Rub it in why don’t ya, buddy,” Myka thinks. She rises gingerly from the bed, so as not to disturb Helena, and then downs as many glasses of water as she can handle. Upon entering Helena’s room, she sets her alarm, then flops heavily onto the bed, passing out in an instant, fully clothed.

\-------------------------

Myka wakes to the sound of her alarm buzzing loudly by her head. Unsure of how long it’s been going off, she grabs the phone hastily to silence the noise, hoping she hasn’t woken the whole house. Noting the time, she sets the phone aside and drops unceremoniously back down with a thunk. 

Forcing herself to stay awake, she assess her state of being and decides while she feels groggy and hazy, her head, so far, isn’t hurting. Closing her eyes for a few moments more, she breathes in the pleasant scent of Helena on the pillows, then wills herself to roll over, dragging her limp frame up and off the bed to face the day.

She wavers while standing, then steadies and heads cautiously toward the living room. Stopping to prop herself up on the doorframe, she sees not only is Helena passed out on the couch, but Christina has joined her and is snuggled up, hugging Helena tightly. Next to Christina lies Dewy, stretched out in a sleepy thin line.

Dewy rises first, yawning then jumping off the bed, scuttling over to circle his food bowl while mewing softly.

Myka angles her brows in his direction subserviently. “Ok, dude. Just give me, like, a minute, here.” She walks over to the sink and grabs a glass, filling it with water and drinking the contents several times over.

Christina stirs next, and Myka hears her bounce effortlessly off the bed and into the kitchen.

“Hi, Myka!” Christina says warmly. 

Myka looks down and to the side to where Christina stands staring up at her, eyes bright and full of cheer. She thinks to herself she's not sure she can handle this much exuberance right now. “Good morning, Christina. Do you want some breakfast?"

“Sure! I can make it myself. You look too sleepy.” Christina says this as fact.

Myka can only imagine how she appears right now with her crumpled clothes, full-on bed head, and dark puffy eyes.

“Ok honey, thanks,” Myka says lethargically. She turns and stands in a daze, searching the shelves for coffee as Christina buzzes around her pouring cereal into a bowl. As if out of nowhere she feels a hand on her shoulder and a warm breath by her ear.

“I’ll take care of breakfast, Myka, you go ready yourself for work and your trip.” 

Helena’s voice is deep and full of sleep, which Myka finds arousing and comforting at the same time. She turns her head and finds herself face to face with a very drowsy and sheepishly smiling Helena.

A slow, warm, lopsided grin grows on Myka’s face. She gazes at Helena for a moment, mind flashing back to last night and the laundry list of stories that were shared. But the details feel a bit murky, and right now she truthfully can't help but feel closer than ever to this beautifully tusseled woman standing next her. And this feeling, whatever it is, is good. Really good.

Myka's grin widens as Helena's lessens, and Myka suddenly realizes she been staring for a bit too long. "Um, ok, yeah, thanks. I'm just gonna….," she points to the living room and makes her way over to start packing. 

Helena and Christina eat their breakfasts in Christina's room to give Myka some privacy while showering and dressing for work.

Myka pushes through her foggy state and focuses on the tasks she needs to complete before leaving for the weekend. Once she is packed, she dons her shoes and jacket, then knocks on Christina’s door. She gives it a light push, then enters.

“Hey you two, I’m heading out. I just wanted to say goodbye…,” as she scans the room she sees Christina is playing with Dewy and her stuffed horse, Junior, on the bed. Helena is dozing next to her.

Christina jumps up to give Myka a hug. “I’ll miss you, Myka."

“I’m going to miss you too, honey. I’ll be back in a few days."

Myka looks over as Helena pulls herself up off the bed.

“I’ll walk you to the door…"

“Helena you don’t have to…."

Helena stands, face pinching, eyes narrowing, throwing Myka a "don’t placate me" look. She then addresses Christina, “I just need a minute with Myka. I’ll be right back, and we’ll decide what we should do together today.” 

“Can we go to the park?” Christina blurts expectantly.

Helena’s mouth forms a tired but warm smile. “Yes, of course. But hold that thought, dearest, and we’ll talk after, alright? I may need a short nap first.” She turns to Myka eyes full of a lighthearted trepidation.

Myka lips curl sympathetically.

Helena and Myka walk the length of the apartment into the living room, and Myka grabs her bags off the couch. They stop near the front door and stand facing each other. 

Helena eyes Myka up and down. “You’re looking a little worse for wear today, love. Are you sure you’ll be alright traveling?"

Myka mock gasps. “Me, look at you?”

Helena looks down at herself then back up at Myka, brow arched sassily.

Myka smirks and angles her eyes down shyly. "I’ll live.” When she looks back up, her playful expression is filled with concern. "But what about you? Do you have to work tonight?” 

Helena sighs. “Unfortunately yes. Though I will be able to catch a nap somewhere today.”

Helena’s countenance sobers, and she angles her eyes self-consciously over, then down. “I— must apologize to you, Myka. I shouldn’t have brought out the big guns last night and gotten us both riled up when I knew you had work in the morning. And I’m afraid I waffled on far longer than necessary about things that are inconsequential. You must think I'm quite full of myself.” She fidgets with her hands and looks away nervously.

Myka’s heart jumps at Helena’s words. "Helena, _no_ , I’m— I'm _glad_ you felt comfortable enough to tell me everything that you did. And I’m really happy to get to know you better….” Her head dips down to gain Helena’s attention.

Helena continues looking pointedly down. ”I don’t...often…..,” she bites her bottom lip nervously, “….there aren’t many people that I—,” her eyes narrow, and she takes a deep breath, “….that I—I feel comfortable—,” her head tilts thoughtfully, “…..that I’m… _close_ to—,” her head involuntarily drops lower and lower as she stumbles over her words, eyes becoming glassy and distant.

Myka immediately sets down her bags and steps forward into Helena’s personal space. “Hey…..,” she hopes Helena will look up at her, but she doesn’t. “…. _Hey_ …,” she says a little louder but with tenderness, placing a reassuring hand on Helena’s bicep. She runs her hand lightly up and down, then gives Helena’s arm a gentle squeeze.

Helena looks up as if just noticing Myka is there, eyes full of a deep-seated melancholy that causes Myka’s stomach to clench.

“Come here…,” Myka tugs on Helena’s arm, pulling her in closer, enveloping her in a hug, desperately hoping to assuage Helena’s sudden distress.

Helena leans in, wrapping her arms tightly around Myka’s torso, burying her face in Myka’s shoulder.

Myka delicately rests her chin on the crown of Helena’s head and closes her eyes. Breathing in deeply, she recognizes the sweet musky scent of sleep from Helena’s pillows, mixed with the aroma of sticky day old alcohol. She finds the combination somehow warm and inviting.

Running a comforting hand up and down Helena’s back, she becomes acutely aware of Helena’s body tensing. Suddenly Helena is gripping her tighter, fingers digging deeper into Myka’s muscles, head pressing a little firmer into Myka’s shoulder. In that moment Myka _swears_ she feels a jolt of electricity pass between the two of them, and decides Helena has just now given a part of herself over to her, that a solid and lasting connection has just been made.

Helena gradually loosens her grip and pulls back. She takes a deep sniff and wipes away a stray tear. “And...here’s me getting all emotional on you whilst hungover, definitely not something you needed to add to your list of tasks for this morning,” she says through a strained smile. 

Myka’s never seen Helena look or sound this vulnerable before. “Helena, no, it's ok, I—,“

Myka stops talking as her eyes meet Helena’s.

Helena's gaze, at first full of longingly, quickly dampens as if struggling to contain any further emotion. Her eyes wander down, and she tilts her head slightly as she reaches out to lovingly smooth and examine the lapels on Myka’s jacket.

“—I predict, after a good nights sleep, you’ll wake up in Providence and feel a well-deserved sense of normalcy for the first time in ages…,” Helena runs her fingers under the edge of the fabric, “….then you’ll spend some time with your mates, and have a chance to remember who you are, who you once were.” 

She looks up at Myka with conviction in her eyes while firmly grabbing hold of Myka's lapels. “And _that_ will give you more confidence in your future than anyone or anything else ever could.” She gives a smug smirk. "Once the hangover wears off.” 

She presses the tips of her fingers gently against Myka’s chest and pushes back, then drops her arms, all the while eyes fixed on Myka. “And you better not let me keep you from work any longer, as you shouldn’t be getting into trouble on my account, young lady.” Her brow arches playfully.

Helena tries to make light of the situation, but Myka finds that the longer she gazes into Helena’s eyes, the more layers of emotions she finds hiding there. The most surprising of all is _fear_.

"Is she scared of me?” Myka thinks, “ _or_ ….she’s afraid having feelings for me.” Myka almost gasps, deciding she’s just discovered a pivotal piece of information about Helena, one that will clearly shape their future. She laments the fact there is no way to sort things out between them right now. If she only didn’t have work today, if she wasn’t leaving for Providence, if she wasn’t moving out next week…...

She scans Helena’s face, and with her scruffy bedhead and droopy, sleepy eyes, Myka can barely resist the temptation of leaning in to capture Helena's slightly parted lips with her own. She sighs to herself, thinking as much as she’d like to deny it, her teenage crush is back in full force this morning…..

“I, um, it’s ok,” she says almost gaily. Grabbing her bag, she fingers the doorknob, then anxiously turns back to Helena. “I’m _really_ glad we talked, you know. Thank you. _Thank you_ for sharing your story with me. I’ll see you in a few days.” 

Helena gives a haggard but grateful smile in return. “Have a safe trip… text me when you get there? I can’t help feeling like a worried mother….” 

Myka smiles graciously back. “Of course.” She opens the door and exits.

She walks down the short hall, then turns back toward Helena before descending the stairs.

Helena watches intently from the doorway with a slightly dejected look in her eyes.

Suddenly a black flash jettisons out into the hall and a small child whooshes out behind. Christina grabs Dewy the moment before he runs down the stairs. She holds him tightly and giggles, waggling his front paw at Myka. “Dewy says goodbye, Myka!"

Myka looks down with a humored smirk. “Goodbye, Dewy.” Her eyes move to Christina, “Goodbye, Christina."

Christina giggles again and hauls Dewy back in the apartment. Myka’s gaze follows Christina's retreat and her eyes trail up to meet Helena’s as she stands in the door.

“Goodbye, Helena,” Myka says with a soft sincerity.

“Safe journey,” Helena bids, eyes slightly sparkling.

Myka turns and descends the stairs, pausing before opening the main door, smiling gleefully to herself. “Hope," she thinks. That feeling she’s feeling right now….definitely _hope_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *As far as I can tell there is maybe three or four chapters left and I'll wrap up part one.
> 
> _Next up: Myka visits old haunts and learns some current Helena puzzle pieces upon her return to NYC._


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka visits old haunts and ~~learns~~ continues to ponder some current Helena puzzle pieces upon her return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is more Myka thoughts than H.G. reveal and it's all Amanda's fault. I needed to set some things up for upcoming chapters, but lots of H.G. coming up soon. (Also flashback: in CH.9 we learned Myka had a wee crush on Amanda)

—————————

> _“Liberation was in the very scale of the city: a goldfish bowl one could never grow to fit.”_  
>  ― Sheridan Hay, _The Secret of Lost Things_

\--------------

Myka bumbles through her day at work but manages to accomplish everything of importance prior to six o’clock. While grabbing a quick meal before heading to the station, she decides she's in no condition to brave the subway right now and instead splurges on a cab.

She boards the train promptly and is pleased to find an empty window seat. No one sits next to her, and once her ticket is checked, she slumps over on her bag and falls into a deep sleep.

Three hours later as the train approaches Providence, the conductor gently shakes her awake.

In a sleepy daze, she hurriedly gathers her things, rises and disembarks. She drowsily rides the escalator up to the lobby and finds Abigail patiently awaiting her arrival, sitting on one of the high-backed wooden benches.

The women exchange hellos and a hug; then Abigail takes a step back, grimacing while eyeing Myka up and down.

“You look like _hell_ , Myka. What happened to you?"

Myka pictures her appearance, hair a little flattened, eyes sunken with dark circles underneath. "I, uh, fell asleep on the train."

Abigail places a hand on her hip and lifts a brow sassily. She purses her lips while wagging a finger back and forth. "Uh-uh, Myka. There's _more_ to it than that. _Talk_.” 

Myka sets down her bags and decides while she _could_ skirt the issue, she probably _should_ do as instructed and just talk. “Do you remember that night we went out drinking?” 

Abigail raises a brow, “Definitely."

Myka’s shoulders slump. “Well, not _that_ bad, but, last night? There was some, ah, drinking, with, um, Helena." She angles her eyes away timidly.

Abigail’s face lights up. Her arm drops from her hip, and she immediately steps in closer. “ _Really_. Do tell."

Myka straightens her spine, then gives a disgruntled smirk. ”Nothing happened, Abbs. We just, you know, _talked_."

Abigail tilts her chin and frowns. “Too bad. But you can tell me _alllll_ about it on the drive,” she smirks suggestively and moves to link her arm with Myka’s.

Myka raises a hand. “Yeah, but, like, not tonight, ok? Tomorrow.” Her face droops with fatigue.

Abigail’s brows furrow, then release. “Ok. But I’m going to hold you too that, you know."

“I know,” Myka says distractedly, abruptly digging through her purse. She pulls out her phone, taps it a few times, then begins to text.

Abigail sidles up next to Myka and tilts her head. “What'cha doin’ there, hmmm?"

“Uh…” Myka’s shoulders shrug faintly, “….texting Helena?" Her lips upturn self-consciously. “I told her I would, you know, let her know made it ok. I mean, she asked me to.” She stares blankly at her phone, barely able to concentrate on forming words on the virtual keyboard.

“ _I see_ ,” Abigail mutters, voice full of innuendo.

“What?” Myka snaps innocently.

“Oooh, nothing, Myka. Let’s just get you home before you drop."

\---------------------

Abigail’s apartment spans the entire top floor of a three-story wooden Victorian house. As Sunday morning arrives, Myka finds herself nudged awake by the warmth streaming through a sunny, lightly curtained window. She rises, navigates her way to the bathroom, showers, and dresses, then leisurely drinks some coffee in the kitchen, reading the paper while Abigail gets dressed. 

As she sits, she becomes aware of how familiar this morning routine has felt, and how calm she feels inside at present, almost as if she's been told it's ok to step down from high alert. She knows her situation at Helena's is comfortable enough, but between her increasingly demanding work schedule and her anxiety over her feelings for Helena, the place has become fraught with emotion. Abigail's apartment is quiet and cozy, exactly what she needs right now to soothe her nerves and clear her brain.

Abigail soon announces she's ready to go, and the pair drive to a classic train car diner on the edge of town in search of breakfast. 

Upon arrival, they find they’ve beat the crowd and are seated at a booth immediately.

Abigail orders biscuits with sausage gravy and coffee, but Myka can’t decide.

“Is that good?" Myka says apprehensively. "You always get that when we come here."

Abigail narrows her eyes. “Are _you_ , Myka Ophelia Bering, suggesting you’d consider eating biscuits and gravy?" Her face shows mild shock. "If so, then what have you done with the _real_ Myka Ophelia Bering, the one that orders only fruit, egg whites and whole wheat toast when we come here….."

Myka looks up, glowering briefly at Abigail, then returns to scouring the menu. “I don’t know, Abbs. I feel like trying something different, that’s all.” 

Abigail motions toward a handwritten sign on the wall. “Then get that, the special lobster gravy. I’ve heard it’s _really_ good.” 

Myka looks toward the sign, then back at Abigail. She nods resolutely. “OK. I’m gonna do it."

Abigail’s lips curl up at the ends, clearly thrilled with Myka's choice.

As they wait for their order to arrive, Myka updates Abigail with as much information about her week as she feels comfortable. Their food arrives just as she unveils her new theory concerning Helena’s fear of intimacy.

“Why would she be afraid getting too close to _you_?” Abigail questions before shoveling in a mouthful of food.

“I’m not sure exactly. It’s just a hunch.” Myka eyes her plate as if she’s not sure how it eat it properly.

She watches closely as Abigail crumbles her biscuit into the bowl then mixes it with the gravy. To be honest, she’d forgotten how unpalatable the dish looks once complete.

“Having a hunch _and_ eating biscuits? This is certainly a brave new Myka Bering I see before me.” Abigail offers a bemused smile.

Myka’s chin dips down as her eyes angle away humbly.

Abigail stalwartly pushes forward, chewing on some sausage. “So, back to Helena. Maybe she had a bad experience in a past relationship and that’s what's making her gun shy? You said she had an ex-girlfriend….what was her name again?"

“ _Giselle_ ,” Myka says flatly. 

Abigail lets out a snort, then a high-pitched chuckle.

“What now?” Myka scoffs, narrowing her eyes.

“That name will _never_ cease to amuse me, Myka." 

Myka’s mouth downturns. “If you ever meet her in person, trust me, you won't be amused anymore.” 

Abigail pulls herself back together. “So, you need to find out more about her, about their relationship—"

“ _How?_ ” Myka mouths sharply, eyeing her food warily. She raises a spoonful of biscuity gravy to her lips but decides she can’t yet convince herself to try the slop.

Abigail points her spoon at Myka. “Get her drunk again. That seemed to work, right?” She scoops up a mound of food.

"No way, Abbs." Myka's hand drops and her spoon clatters as it hits the side of the bowl. "That wasn’t good for either of us and I have a feeling she did it just for me. I don’t think she drinks much."

Abigail freezes mid-chew upon noting Myka's serious tone. She swallows and focuses on the discussion at hand. “Then maybe you can talk to her friend….Claudia, right?"

“Yeah but when?” Myka huffs out impetuously.

“Oh, I don’t know, Myka. You’ll find the time."

Myka breathes a heavy sigh.

Abigail’s eyes suddenly brighten, flashing a twinkle of mischief. “ _AND_ —"

Myka’s eyebrows raise in confusion. “ _And_?"

Abigail wets her lips and adopts a smarmy grin. “You do realize this means _you’re_ going to have to ask her out.” She takes a sip of coffee and eyes Myka onerously over the rim.

“What? Why _me_?" Myka flinches back, eyes growing round. 

“Well, _she’s_ clearly not going to do it,” Abigail waves her cup in Myka’s direction.

“But she’s the charming, debonair one—” Myka says with a whine.

“But if she’s as scared of intimacy as you say—"

“Yeah, but, I’ve-I've never been _that_ person before, Abbs—"

“Well there’s a first time for _everything_ , Myka.” 

Abigail throws her eyes towards Myka’s breakfast.

Myka glances at it, too, then back up at Abigail. “Damn it, Abigail.”

\-------

Myka and Abigail tool around Providence after breakfast, stopping here and there, visiting at points of interest and old haunts. Mid-afternoon, they take a coffee break at a popular local bakery chain.

Abigail orders drinks and pastries while Myka grabs a table. 

As she waits, Myka stares absently out the window, thinking to herself Helena was absolutely right, everything on this trip so far feels pleasant and comforting. And truthfully she's relieved to have a place to go to that evokes those feelings. She wonders if Helena has anywhere she’d say she could visit that’d feel safe and secure. Sadly, she thinks, probably not.

“Earth to, Myka. Your beverage has arrived…” Abigail waves a hand over Myka's coffee.

Lost in thought, Myka startles at the sound of Abigail's voice. With a gracious smile she mouths, “Thanks, Abbs," and threads her fingers through the cup handle, sliding it in closer. 

Abigail makes a second trip to grab a plate loaded with two sumptuous pastries. 

Myka eyes them suspiciously.

“If you don’t eat it, I will. This is good stuff.” Abigail relays firmly.

“I know, I know.” Myka picks a piece off of a pecan bun and takes a nibble.

She sighs. “It’s nice to be back, Abbs.” Her tone is wistful as she gazes out at the quiet two-lane street in front of the store. “It’s—"

“Claustrophobic—” Abigail spits out acerbically.

“I was going to say ‘homey,'" Myka offers earnestly.

“Well maybe for _you_ , having grown up in a city this size. For me? I feel _trapped_."

“Abbs—"

“Look, Myka, a few months back and you’d hate it here again. I know New York can be tough, but here…. _here_ you’re a big fish in a small pond. And I know _you_ know that, and even though you'll never admit it, that fact always made you antsy. In New York, you’re a just another fish in a lake, swimming around doing your thing. There you have the choice of growing, or not.”

Myka sighs dolefully. She’s not convinced.

“Fine. Take Amanda for instance."

Myka mentally rolls her eyes, thinking, _“Oh, no, here we go again…..”_

“The only reason she's still _here_ is because it feeds her ego.” Abigail’s words are filled with genuine disdain.

“Yeah, but she’s doing really well with her art and stuff."

Abigail huffs a breath out dismissively. “She came here with connections, Myka, then weaseled her way into some more. For her, an MFA was a good career move. For you, _you_ came here because it fed your soul."

Myka looks away and shakes her head. “Oh, I don’t know.” 

Abigail grimaces. “Look, Myka, if New York ever becomes too much for you, you can always find comfort in a place like this. For a big city girl like me, I’m done for. Nothing can compare to the city I was born and raised in, the city I love." She throws her hands up in the air passionately.

Myka gives Abigail a knowing smirk.

“So while I _feel_ for you, woman, please, stick it out. Good things are happening for you, I can feel it in my bones.” Abigail’s voice lowers and turns gravely at the word “bones."

Myka grins softly. “That’s what Helena said.” 

“Then she’s a smart lady, that prince of yours."

Myka’s cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. 

\-----

The two women have dinner with friends at an edgy popular restaurant on the west side of town later that evening. Other friends and acquaintances join them from time to time, bopping in out to say hello. Myka feels a sense of pride as she regales them with tales of New York and her job, and her chest lightens as they reminisce. 

\------

On Monday, Myka spends the majority of her day digging through the boxes she left at Abigail’s. At first she’s elated with the contents but the feeling soon fades. A few items seem worth keeping, but overall she finds nothing of great sentimental value. Why did she keep this blue lamp, she thinks? Or this painting, it's terrible. She packs a few items of interest in boxes and throws the rest out on the curb. 

She finishes up by late afternoon and readies herself for the trip back to New York. Abigail drops her off in the city center where she’s meeting Amanda for dinner. They pull up to the curb and both step out of the car.

“Do you want to come up and say hi?” Myka asks earnestly.

“Um, no. Unfortunately, I run into her far too often already. You know how small this town can be......"

“Ok. I'll see you Thursday night then?” Myka's voice wavers slightly, as the idea of moving on Thursday continues to fill her with anxiety.

She gives Abigail a warm hug and moves toward the restaurant.

Upon entering, she immediately walks up a set of stairs to the more casual area of the restaurant. With it’s dark wooden decor and taxidermy animals lining the walls, the spot is a popular hangout for grad students. She finds Amanda already present and seated in a booth, bright blonde hair piled high on top of her head. 

Myka positions herself near the table, observing Amanda silently.

Amanda wears a disgruntled look while typing franticly on her phone. She waves Myka away dismissively without looking up.

Myka stands firm, undaunted.

Amanda finally glances up, her light blue eyes ice cold, her expression, irksome.

“Oh. It’s you." Her Teutonic face softens, but her tone stays brusque. "Hello.”

“Hi, Amanda,” Myka says with a sweet smile. She cocks her head thoughtfully. “What’cha doin’?"

Amanda breathes out loudly from her nose. “This gallery, in LA…..they're a _complete_ disaster. They contact me incessantly with the most dimwitted of questions." Amanda’s pouty plump lips downturn sourly. "I _really_ need an intern.” 

Myka sits while feigning a look of concern. “I thought you already had one?"

Amanda huffs despairingly. “ _Students_. All they care about is their schoolwork, their 'degrees'. They have no work ethic otherwise _or_ sense of loyalty."

As Amanda flies off on a tirade concerning incompetence in the workplace, Myka takes a moment to study this woman sitting in front of her. With her classical good looks and impeccable wardrobe, it's easy to see why people would be attracted to her. And, she has……Myka's eyes momentarily flick toward Amanda's suggestively unbuttoned shirt......um, _ample_ assets. Her attention drifts up to study Amanda’s elegantly styled long hair, which Myka has long admired, yet she now decides she finds Helena’s dark shiny straight locks far more seductive. Her eyes follow Amanda's hands as they wave around, emphasizing words for effect. While they remain dignified, graceful, capable, in comparison to Helena’s handsome, strong, pragmatic, and _sensual_ ones, Amanda’s now seem genteel.

Myka's eyes glaze over momentarily as she loses herself in thoughts of Helena. She breathes in short a sharp breath, then turns her focus back to Amanda and her blathering banter.

She _supposes_ Amanda's arrogance and fiery nature can be seen as appealing in some ways; though perhaps _provocative_ is a better word. Confidence _can_ be alluring, especially when _Helena_ is wearing it, she thinks. She chuckles to herself thinking how timid she used to act around Amanda; tiptoeing around issues so as not to upset her or agreeing with things that she said in hopes of gaining her favor. She rather happily recognizes she doesn’t see herself as that person anymore, maybe from having been through what she’s been though as of late, though she suspects meeting Helena has also played a big part. 

Myka cuts in as Amanda monotonously drones on. “Well maybe you should _pay_ someone to help who’s not a student? Compensate them a little better? I mean you _are_ selling work, right?”

 _“And,”_ Myka thinks, _"you have rich, supportive parents.”_ She knows better than to say that out loud.

“Perhaps,” Amanda says flatly, slightly affronted by Myka’s interruption.

The waitress ambles over and drops some menus slackly on the table. As she’s walking away, Amanda bluntly blurts out in a low demanding voice, “What _are_ the specials today."

Without turning around, the waitress half-heartedly points to a chalkboard above the bar. 

Amanda rolls her eyes. “ _So_ rude."

Myka quickly glances at the waitress as she stands near the dumbwaiter. “Isn’t that Deb Stanley? Didn’t you sleep with her boyfriend?"

“Did I?” Amanda casts her eyes to the side toward the waitress. "Was he that beefy stud who endlessly spouted crude jokes and ill-conceived pickup lines?”

“Yeah, that's the one.” Myka nods. “Actually, I thought he was kinda funny."

“This town is far too small," Amanda groans.

Myka shrugs but smirks knowingly.

Amanda reboots her mood. Reaching across the table, she grabs Myka’s hands, lifts them up, gives them a squeeze. “So what about _you_ , Myka. How are things in New York?”

Myka's taken aback by Amanda’s question, noting Amanda's eyes glow a little too bright, her smile uncomfortably forced. And she _never_ opens a discussion by asking how the other person is doing. Maybe she wants something.

“Ah, things are good? Abigail's helping me move into my new place on Thursday, and the gallery might send me to Europe in a month or so for a big art fair."

“ _Really_ —” Amanda’s eyes light up even more.

Myka feels a wave of anxiety as she recognizes that look and swears she can already see the schemes multiplying in Amanda’s mind.

“Maybe I’ll go too. We can hang out!” Amanda's tone is a little too enthusiastic to be genuine.

The waitress returns and eyes Amanda frostily as she takes their orders.

Amanda withdraws her hands, straightens her posture, and leans back into her seat.

Order complete, Amanda immediately continues. “So, Myka, I need to ask a favor."

 _“I knew it. Here it comes,”_ Myka thinks.

“I’m lending some work for this sort of pop up show thing happening this summer at my New York gallery. It's at their the Lower East Side location—"

_“Oh great. She wants me to babysit something since I work around the corner.”_

“They have a small project room upstairs and they’ve asked me to recommend a new artist for the space during the show—"

_"Ok, she’s going to ask me for suggestions, peachy.”_

“And I put your name forward."

 _“What?”_ Myka blurts out in her head.

“What?" she yelps out loud. Her head jerks back as her mouth falls open. “I, uh, well, I have a _few_ things left but I lost most of my work in the fire....."

Amanda sucks in her cheeks. “Fire?” She narrows her eyes. 

Raising her brows, Myka gives Amanda a glassy stare. “You _do_ remember that my apartment, containing like, everything I owned, _literally_ blew up, and I lost it all? And that I’ve been staying with a friend until I move into a new place….."

Amanda gives a weak smile. “Oh, right. Sorry." 

Myka looks thoroughly appalled.

Amanda continues unfazed. “Then you should make new work. Use this as a catalyst." She lets out an exaggerated sigh in annoyance. "Honestly, Myka, I'm worried they'll fill the space with some other idiot’s work. You know what these summer shows are like.” Her eyes roll dramatically.

Myka’s not sure if she should be offended by that last remark, or flattered by Amanda’s offer. She panics slightly, unsure she can pull this off, but knows she really shouldn’t let this opportunity pass her by. Amanda’s gallery is well known, and the show is bound to bring in a diverse crowd. She takes a deep breath while staring at Amanda apprehensively.

“Please,” Amanda begs, putting on her best doe eyes.

Myka deflates. “OK. Yes."

Amanda’s grin is blinding. “Good! I said you’d talk with them immediately when you get back. Tuesday to be precise."

 _“Great.”_ Myka thinks. _“Not only do I have a client dinner tomorrow evening, now I have to schmooze with someone else’s gallery folks.”_

“Great!” Myka says out loud, trying but failing to sound as enthusiastic as possible.

Oblivious to the trepidation in Myka’s voice, Amanda prattles on about the show.

Beers and food are served. Amanda continues to discuss topics mostly related to herself for the rest of the evening.

\------------------------

Myka's train runs late due to a signal problem, and she ends up arriving at Helena’s a little after midnight. She makes as little fuss as possible, sets her alarm and promptly passes out.

On Tuesday morning, her alarm rings and she snaps awake, immediately realizing she regrettably slept through Helena and Christina's departure. Dragging herself up, she hastily dresses and glides out the door.

After work she meets with Amanda's gallery briefly, then shuffles off to a client dinner at a trendy restaurant in midtown.

Her journey home takes an eternity due to nightly subway service changes, and yet again she finds herself back at the apartment after everyone is asleep. She quickly sheds her uncomfortable but aesthetically pleasing formal clothes and swiftly slips on a tank top and pajama bottoms, then dives into bed, crashing almost immediately. 

\-------------------

Wednesday morning arrives, and Myka wakes just as Helena and Christina are about to leave.

She yawns audibly and raises her head.

“Ah, the sleeper awakes,” Helena says with a smirk as she stands near the front door waiting for Christina.

Myka scoots back on the bed and sits up. “What?" She pouts groggily while blinking.

“Good morn-ing, My-ka,” Helena mouths slowly.

“Oh. Yeah. Morning.” A dopey, dozy smile takes over Myka's face as her eyes strain to focus on Helena.

“You're _simply_ a vision in the morning, love.” Helena’s words hold a hint of sarcasm but are filled with sincere affection.

“Shut up, _you_.” Myka answers playfully, throwing a mock scowl. She blinks again, and squints then rubs her eyes and face while yawning, all the while holding Helena’s gaze.

Helena's grin widens, her dark eyes shining with an intense light.

Myka stares, transfixed, as the now familiar warm feeling of attraction to Helena blissfully grows inside of her.

“ _Mom—_ ,” Christina says with urgency as she tugs on Helena’s pant leg.

Helena startles, and looks down at Christina.

“We have to _go_ —"

Helena smiles sweetly. “Yes, of course, dear."

Christina motions for Helena to come nearer, and Helena crouches down to her level. As Christina whispers something into Helena’s ear, Helena’s lips curl suggestively.

Helena turns to addresses Myka with a smug smirk. “Myka, Christina would like to know if you might be home for in time for supper this evening."

A gleam appears in Myka's eye as she places her fingers lightly over her mouth, the corners of her lips curling up fondly. “I-, well, I _was_ planning on coming here straight after work, yeah." 

Christina whispers something else into Helena’s ear.

Helena smiles warmly, then stands and addresses Myka. “Good.” She looks down at Christina and Christina gazes up at her conspiratorially. Helena then turns toward Myka. “We shall see you then."

\----------------------

Myka’s day at work passes without difficulty. She’s managed to suppress her anxiety over moving by focusing on her evening with Helena and Christina instead. As six o’clock arrives, her phone buzzes, and she eyes it with a wrinkled brow. Noting the caller is Helena, she smiles warmly to herself.

“ _Myka_ — I’m so glad I caught you,” Helena sounds distraught.

“Helena? What’s wrong?” Myka's voice fills with worry.

“I’m _so_ sorry to have to ask you this, but I have to stay late at work. Is there any way you pick up Christina from Liam and Steve’s? If not I’ll try to get a hold of Claudia again."

“Helena, sure.”

Helena had previously and rather specifically told Myka she wasn’t working today and didn't say anything about having to work this morning, so this is new news to her. 

“Christina has an important test tomorrow and the book is at home, so she needs to get back before too late to study—"

“It’s not a problem, _really_. I don’t mind. How long do you think you’ll be?"

"I’m…...not sure,” Helena pauses as if her attention is focused on elsewhere.

Myka can hear banging noises and someone shouting in Spanish in the background.

“Certainly before her bedtime." 

Myka candidly blurts out, “So this _work_ , Helena, you’re not at the hotel, are you?” 

Helena doesn’t answer right away.

“Myka, I-, I’ll explain everything tonight,” Helena sounds distracted, “but I have to go. Let me give you their address and number."

Myka writes down the details.

“Myka, you are a _saint_. Thank you, _so much_. I promise I'll make this up to you somehow in the future."

“Helena, don’t worry—"

“Must dash. Call me if you need anything, anything at all."

Helena hangs up.

Myka slumps down in her chair, eyes glazing over, arm slowly lowering her phone to rest on her desk. She shakes her head minutely back and forth.

“Oh, Helena."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: I feel bad that I wrote Pete out the plot in the first chapter as this *was* originally meant to be much, much shorter story. So I’ve decided to just let him pop up here and there - probably not as the *same* Pete, if you know what I mean, but sort of sprinkling aspects of Pete here and there.
> 
> Next up: SO MANY THINGS. Where is H.G. working and why can't Myka tell Claudia? Whats the deal with Giselle? And, most importantly, what does Liam and Steve's apartment look like? (I jest) STAY TUNED. (for real, this _is_ all written, it just needs some polish.)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka meets Liam and Steve and learns about Helena’s relationship with Giselle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 18 will go up later today.....I can pretty confidently say after these two chapters there should be two more so 20 total - I want to wrap up part one by the end of the month (and maybe start part two? Only time will tell).

————————————

> _We all become great explorers during our first few days in a new city, or a new love affair._  
>  Mignon McLaughlin

\-------------------------

Soon after Helena’s call, Myka gathers her things and leaves work, traveling on foot to Liam and Steve's. Their apartment is not far from Christina’s school, but a touch farther north. 

Twenty minutes later she arrives at their building, and notes it's typical for the neighborhood, a six-story tenement, but in much better shape than Helena’s. The buzzer is a slightly complicated affair, with raised buttons, a digital panel, and a video display. She scrolls through to the correct listing; pushes go, and the buzzer rings.

A man with a buzz cut and a kind face appears on the tiny screen. He looks to be about Myka’s age.

“Myka?"

Myka leans toward the console even though she doesn’t need to. “Yeah.”

"Come on up.”

At the sound of the buzzer, she opens the first, then second lobby doors and climbs five flights of steep twisty stairs. As she nears the fifth floor, she sees a handsome man of about her height, muscled but not overly, wearing a long-sleeved cotton shirt with buttons at the neck and comfortable blue jeans. He stands casually, greeting Myka with a warm smile.

“Quite a workout, huh?” he jokes.

“Yeah,” Myka mouths breathily, shaking her head, slightly winded by the climb. 

The man opens the door wide and invites Myka in. He directs her down a short hallway, toward an open plan kitchen. Myka spies Christina and another girl her age in the distance, playing with Legos in the living room.

“Nice place,” Myka says wide-eyed, scanning the layout. She notes the apartment is quite spacious and light and seems to have been recently renovated with new wooden floors and modern appliances.

“Thanks. We’re lucky to have it.” The man’s eyes dart to the sink, where a second man, equally buff and tall but with sandy brown short hair and wearing an apron, stands at the sink, washing pots and pans.

The first man explains, “You've probably already heard that Liam’s father is a contractor and manages lots of jobs in the neighborhood. He helped us buy and renovate this place.” 

Myka opens her mouth to reply, but before she can answer the second man swings around to greet her.

“Hi, I’m Liam.” He dries his hands with a dishtowel, takes a step forward and extends a hand.

Myka shakes it.

“Oh and I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Steve.” 

Myka turns to shake Steve’s hand, too.

"And that’s Erica,” Steve nods his head and throws his eyes towards the living room.

Myka turns her head and watches as Christina and the other girl play. “She’s adorable."

“And a handful,” Liam adds with a light huff. 

Steve throws Liam a scowl.

“At times.” Liam shrugs apologetically.

Steve seems to notice Myka’s uncomfortableness while observing their exchange and motions toward the bar dividing the kitchen from the living area. “Please, sit, rest for a moment. I’ll make some tea.”

Myka hesitates, thinking Christina should get home soon to study, but decides turning down Steve’s invitation might seem rude.

“Ok, thanks.” Myka walks across the kitchen and drops her purse on the floor next to a stool. She sits with a stiff posture and laces her fingers together on the counter. 

Steve moves to put the kettle on while Liam turns back to the sink.

Myka suddenly feels the need to apologize. “I’m sorry to bother you at dinner time."

“Oh, it’s no trouble, we just finished up.” Liam twists toward Myka and throws the dishtowel over his shoulder. 

Myka still feels like she’s intruding, and attempts to explain her presence. “I-I thought Helena didn’t have to work today, but then she called. Do you know where she is?” 

Steve side-eyes Liam with a half-squint, then looks back at Myka. “She didn’t tell you?"

“Um, no.” Myka fidgets with her hands nervously. “But she said she would. Tell me. Later. Tonight."

Steve’s eyebrows squish together, and he turns toward Liam while rubbing his chin.

Liam shrugs his shoulders while giving a slight frown.

Steve sighs. He holds Liam’s gaze for a second, then turns back to Myka. “I’m sorry, but I think she should tell you herself.” His eyes show compassion as if he’s sorry to let her down.

“Ok.” Myka feels terrible that she asked at all.

Steve’s lips form a thin line. “But just in case, could you maybe _not_ tell Claudia H.G. was working today?” 

“Why does everybody keep saying that?” Myka blurts out, just as the kettle whistles. She realizes it might seem rude to ask, but she _really_ wants to know and, well, it’s too late now to take it back now. 

Steve and Liam eye each other nervously.

Liam raises a brow and purses his lips. “Well throw the poor girl a bone."

“Tea first,” Steve says insistently and lifts the kettle off of the burner.

Liam grimaces playfully. “Ok fine. _I’ll_ tell her, you make _tea_."

Steve feigns a smile but nods curtly in approval.

Liam removes his apron and hangs it on a hook by the pantry, then places the dishtowel over the oven handle to dry. He moves around to the other side of the bar and seats himself on a stool facing to Myka, leaning his back against the wall.

Myka angles herself toward Liam.

“So….in a nutshell, H.G. promised Claudia years ago that once her work visa cleared she’d stop doing under the table jobs. And she stopped, for a while, but started up again maybe six moths ago?”

Liam glances at Steve, and Steve nods.

Myka looks on eagerly.

Liam continues. "Which is probably fine, but lately she’s been taking on more hours…..” 

“….aaand Claudia will _murder_ her if she finds out.” Steve adds ardently while eyeing the cupboard's tea choices.

"Why?” Myka understands the fact that Claudia might be upset if Helena broke a promise, but murdering her seems kind of harsh. 

Liam answers. "Claudia thinks H.G. should just ask her if she needs money, instead of putting her status in the U.S. in jeopardy, but H.G.'s too stubborn.” He looks pointedly at Steve. 

Steve continues. “But the _bigger_ issue is there’s something currently holding up the renewal of H.G.’s visa, and she’s not sure what. She has a temporary one for now, but if she gets caught moonlighting, her visa might be revoked."

Liam eyes Myka firmly. “Thereby invoking the wrath of Claudia."

Steve brings over a teapot and three cups.

Liam studies the pot. “Which one is this?"

“Yunnan Gold."

Liam’s eyebrows draw together.

“You remember, it’s kind of like ‘regular tea’ but less acidic, more refined.."

“Oh, right." Liam nods knowingly. "I thought maybe it was that one you made last night, the one that, um, honestly babe? Kinda tasted like dirt." He wears an apologetic smirk. 

“Pu-erh?" Steve asks with a pout. 

“Um, yeah. That one? I have a hard time keeping them all straight,” Liam flutters his lashes, "but I do still try….." 

Liam and Steve's loving playful banter lifts Myka's spirits and her lips slowly tick up one side at a time. She silently hopes one day she’ll have that kind of closeness, that familiarity with someone again. And perhaps, if she plays her cards right, that someone could be their mutual friend, Helena.

Her brows draw together as Abigail’s voice suddenly pops into her head, spouting advice from this weekend's breakfast outing. She glances at Steve, then Liam, and decides she should ask _them_ about Helena’s relationship with Giselle. 

During a lull in the tea conversation, Myka pipes up, leading with a return to the previous topic. “So I'll _definitely_ ask Helena about her work stuff later, yeah, but I was, wondering,“ her eyes dart anxiously between Steve and Liam, "maybe you could you tell me about,” she shifts in her chair, “ _Giselle_?”

Steve and Liam’s brows rise high, and they glance at each other with alarm. 

Myka hangs in wait of a response but when none arrives she continues. "I don’t mean to pry or anything, but, I—," she angles her eyes away and rubs a thumb absently over a knuckle, "I met her the other day and,” she palms the back of her neck, “I though you must both know her from school, right?” She eyes the pair expectantly as her arm drops to the counter. 

Liam and Steve both look slightly dazed but nod tersely in agreement. 

Myka continues on determindedly. “Ok…so Christina told me Giselle and Helena…..,” Myka tilts her head, narrowing her eyes in thought, “….well to be honest she said someone _named_ Giselle, not specifically _school_ Giselle, _Miss Morales_ Giselle….,” she pauses, mentally kicking herself for unnecessarily pontificating, “...used to, uh…." she draws her mouth into a thin line and bites her bottom lip, "….well... _kiss_.” Myka ends wearing an uncomfortable smile.

Steve eyes Liam cautiously then hunches over as if avoiding the issue entirely, busying himself by serving tea.

Myka throws out one last fact in hopes of sounding convincing. “If it helps, I already know about the boat and her accident and some other important stuff. And Claudia once told me she’d fill in the gaps once Helena told me about her past, so I mean I _could_ ask her, but since I’m here now….."

Steve sets a mug of tea in front of Myka, then hands one to Liam. Liam accepts while eyeing Steve sternly, as if forcing him to accept Myka’s query.

Steve’s nostrils flare as he sighs in defeat. He takes a sip of tea and leans on the bar, one arm propping him up.

“Ok, so this is something H.G. won’t tell you herself. At least the way it should be told,” he says candidly.

Myka’s eyes beam a with genuine gratitude. “Thank you.” She smiles humbly.

Steve’s eyes twinkle back, then he begins. “Giselle…well, you’ve met her.” 

“Yeah.” Myka’s face tightens.

“So you can see she’s a bit,” Steve stumbles uncomfortably.

“Imposing?” Myka takes a guess. 

Steve purses his lips. “Um, yeah. But her heart is in the right place, you know. She’s really good at her job."

Myka nods. "I believe that.” She doesn’t want anyone to think she's being too judgmental, especially about someone she’s met only once.

Liam continues, obviously trying to pick up the pace. “So Helena and Giselle met when Christina started school maybe three years ago….of course as parent and administrator. But that didn’t last long, things heated up _pretty_ quickly…."

Myka's tries to keep a straight face, but is a little unnerved by Liam’s frankness. She thinks while she doesn’t know Helena that well, she honestly can’t imagine the her jumping into such a public relationship after everything Helena’s told her about her past.

Liam’s posture straightens and his eyes widen in response to Myka's reaction. “There were…… _circumstances_ ….,” he says defensively.

Steve clears his throat and raises an eyebrow in annoyance at Liam. “Maybe a little backstory for Myka first, huh, Liam?”

Liam shrugs. “Sorry."

Steve turns to Myka with sympathetic eyes. "Giselle has two sons with her _husband_ ,” he side eyes Liam sharply, “that are both a little older than Christina."

“ _Husband_?” Myka's voice unintentionally raises a pitch. 

Liam jumps in excitedly. “Yeah. See he’s a tattoo, artist. They met in high school, grew up together, sort of 'came up’ together if you know what I mean. Giselle went to college and got her degree to be an admin while Fernando was building his business in the neighborhood.”

Liam eyes his mug and lifts it off the counter.

"If you ask them now, they’ll say they 'weathered most bumps in the road,' and everything was _fine_ until his business started getting a lot of attention." 

He takes a sip, face pinching as the too hot liquid hits his tongue. He blows on the surface to cool it down and looks over at Steve.

Steve continues. “So one of those cable TV shows about tattooing did a feature on Fernando, and soon after that his clientele grew. He sank a lot of money into renting a new space and renovated it to accommodate a more exclusive crowd. He began doing exclusive artwork for celebrities, and, as a big name in the business, traveled the circuit to trade shows and made guest appearances on other TV shows."

Liam finishes Steve’s narrative. “With their father out of the picture so often, it became harder and harder for Giselle to balance her work and two kids. They both have a lot of family in the neighborhood, but there _are_ limits to how often you can pawn your kids off on other people." 

Steve scowls, chiming in with an uncharitable tone. “Unfortunately, Fernando's ego grew out of control, and they fought all the time. And then…"

Liam and Steve both pause.

Myka decides whatever's coming next can’t be good, and sips her tea nervously.

Liam looks directly at Steve and lowers his brows, tilting his head as if on the offensive. “He _did_ say they were on a break, that they were having problems before he—"

Steve scoffs. “Oh come on, Liam. Giselle would _never_ agree to a break. _Seriously_ —"

“well maybe that was part of the problem—"

“are you saying you’re on his side in this?"

“well no but….she’s—"

“she's _what_ , Liam— "

Liam hesitates and looks away, obviously choosing his words carefully. “… _pushy_? Um, you know, kinda overbearing."

Steve rolls his eyes. “That _does not_ justify him having an affair."

Liam holds his hands up.

Myka, eyes wide, blurts out little too forcefully, “Fernando cheated on Giselle? _And_ they have two kids?” 

“Yeah, and kinda publicly," Steve says with disdain, eyeing Liam suspiciously.

"Well he sure was _stupid_ about it, yeah, but because of that everyone else knew about it and he saw how badly he screwed things up."

Steve scowls. “ _Eventually,_ " he adds with a deadpan tone. “but not soon enough. By then H.G. was already planning to move in with Giselle."

Myka's head jerks back and she waves her hands frantically back and forth in the air. "Whoa— whoa— whoa— hold on there. _What?_ You two _seriously_ need to fill in some blanks...." Her eyes dart accusingly between Steve and Liam.

Steve leans back against the stove and side-eyes Liam, crossing his arms as if hunkering down for a tale.

Liam drags a hand through his hair and angles his eyes up as if deciding where to begin. He takes a deep breath, then turns to Myka.

"When Giselle found out about Fernando's affair, she told him she was done, she didn't want _anything_ to do with him anymore, and they separated. Giselle put on a brave face but was obviously distraught. I mean they’d been together since they were teenagers."

Steve adds, “And _this_ , of course, was right around he time she met H.G."

Myka feels her stomach clench. She immediately sees a pattern. Damsel in distress, Prince Helena to the rescue….

"H.G.'d been in New York for maybe a year or so?" Steve looks toward Liam questioningly. 

Liam shakes his head in agreement. 

"And most of her exposure to America at that point was the San Francisco Bay area, LA, and lots of techy computer culture. Claudia was still in school, so they all lived near Stanford. And Palo Alto,” Steve looks at Myka knowingly.

Myka's expression is blank. She's never been there, so she wouldn't know. 

Steve narrows his eyes. "We'll let’s just say it can be very _suburban_. New York was a huge change."

Myka can imagine that, it certainly was for her. But she’s not convinced it would jostle Helena that much. "But she's lived in London…."

“…..before Christina. And it’s not like H.G. and Claudia knew anyone here. They were pretty much on their own." 

Liam takes over. "And New York is, well New York. I’m sure you know what I mean, Myka, having just moved here yourself. The demographic is different, the energy, the density….,” his eyes dart toward Christina.

Myka looks over, too, and for a moment tries to imagine what it would be like to move here not only without knowing anyone but also with a small child. 

Liam looks back at Myka wearing a slight grimace. “I guess you could say H.G. got sort of swept off her feet by Giselle. She’d never met anyone quite like her before.”

His tone lifts, “And, well, the old H.G. used to be more up for a challenge. She used to be a little more…. _outgoing_ ,” he enunciates the word “outgoing” in Steve’s direction while throwing his eyes over knowingly, as if they’ve discussed the matter before.

“ _I_ think she’s mellowed,” Steve argues while eyeing Liam up and down with disapproval.

“Well _I_ think she’s depressed,” Liam counters, head ticking to the side, eyes angling up with a small lip sneer. He glares at Steve with resolve.

Steve glowers with a scowl in return.

Liam swings back to address Myka, purposefully ignoring Steve. “Anyway, not only was Giselle a single working mother, but she had this huge extended family that was mostly supportive of her separation. Fernando had made such as ass of himself, I think they all just wanted Giselle to be happy. Once they learned H.G. wasn’t really as posh as she sounds, they embraced her like she was family. It’d been a long time since H.G. felt like a part of a family.” His eyes beam with empathy. 

Myka’s posture perks up. "Does someone in Giselle’s family own a _bodega_ near Helena’s apartment?” Pieces of past conversations are beginning to fall into place in Myka’s mind.

"Yeah, Hector, her uncle. He _loves_ H.G.” Liam’s eyes roll up and over as he says “loves.” “Actually, most of her family still does. She’s become, you know, part of the neighborhood, a sort of an _adopted_ Loisaida."

“Huh,” Myka mouths under her breath, eyes angled down, mouth slightly agape.

“Oh and Giselle got her that job at the hotel, she knew the previous manager.” Steve slips in.

“Oh,” Myka mouths slowly and somewhat dejectedly. It seems clear that Giselle was a big part of Helena and Christina’s life so whatever caused their split must have been hard on all of them. “So….what, happened?"

Steve pushes off of the stove and moves closer to the bar. "Well the whole thing was kind of a whirlwind and after three, maybe four months Giselle wanted them all to move in together into her place, over on FDR drive. She always _hated_ H.G.’s apartment." 

Myka purses her lips and scowls at the thought of Giselle's disapproval.

“I think it was pretty obvious to all of us that H.G. wasn’t one-hundred percent into the idea, but she'd gotten caught up in the momentum and agreed. And you can imagine how, um, _persuasive_ Giselle can be."

Myka nods her head, and her lips flatten.

Liam continues. "At that point Claudia stopped talking to her. Claudia didn’t approve of Giselle _at all_. Long story short she thought Giselle was manipulative and would throw H.G. under the bus the minute her husband apologized."

“And—?” Myka spouts out impatiently.

“She was…..partially right. I don’t know if Fernando caught wind of H.G. moving in or what, but like clockwork there he was, saying he missed his boys and wanted to be a family again, that knew his fame was fleeting, that family was forever."

Steve rolls his eyes. 

Myka’s gaze dart anxiously between the two of them. “What happened?" 

Steve answers. "Giselle resisted at first, but H.G? H.G. didn’t want to be the person breaking up a family, said she’d never forgive herself, so she just sort of…..backed away. Told Giselle to at least try work things out with Fernando, for the boys sake."

Myka’s heart drops. Poor Helena. “Did…..do you think she was in love with Giselle?” Maybe an inappropriate question, she thinks, but it’s already spilled out of her mouth.

Steve turns toward Liam and they exchange a “who should answer this" glance.

Steve takes the question. "I think it was more the _idea_ of Giselle she was in love with, this person who seemed sorted out, forward thinking, who understood her as a mom, who had this large warm, supportive family. I’m not convinced she was actually in love with Giselle as a person."

"Or that H.G. even knows what that means,” Liam adds cattily.

“ _Liam!_ ” Steve barks.

“What? H.G.’s said it herself."

Steve angles his eyes toward Myka, “But present company and all."

“Oh _come on_. Claudia would say that to her face, too.” Liam nods his head curtly in Myka’s direction.

Myka's face pinches and her eyes narrow as they dart between the two of them. “Um, hello? My face is over here.” 

Steve looks at Myka apologetically. “Sorry Myka, Liam’s just being a little _snippy_.” He scowls at Liam.

Liam rolls his eyes and adds with finality, “So _that’s_ the deal with Giselle."

\--------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loisaida is a term derived from the Spanish (and especially Nuyorican) pronunciation of “Lower East Side”. You can learn more [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alphabet_City,_Manhattan) if you are interested.
> 
> Next Up: H.G. arrives home after work and has a lot of explaining to do.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena arrives home from work and Myka finally gets some answers to her pressing questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 17 was posted a few hours ago so if you are seeing this first, start there.

———————————

 _“A hundred times have I thought New York is a catastrophe, and fifty times : It is a beautiful catastrophe.”_  
― Le Corbusier

\-------------------

Myka thanks Liam and Steve for talking with her, then rises and picks her bag up off the floor. She motions to Christina to gather her things and the pair soon take their leave.

During the short walk home, Myka asks Christina what her test is on, and tells her she’d be more than happy to help her study. She quickly grabs a slice on the way, knowing she could make a healthier choice, but hoping it will calm her jittery stomach. The combination of no dinner, caffeinated tea, and Helena's back story has left her slightly unsettled. 

They reach the apartment in no time flat. Myka immediately changes out of her work clothes into something more casual, while Christina locates the materials she needs to review for her test. They sit side by side on the couch, book perched on the coffee table.

Helena arrives they are finishing up studying, shortly before to Christina’s bedtime. She holds a white box in her hands.

“Hello everyone, so sorry I’m so late."

Myka rises, and Christina jumps up, bounding toward the door. “Did you get it?"

Helena crouches down and hands Christina the box. “I’ve brought…. _something_. I’m sorry it’s not what we agreed upon, but it was the best I could do at this late hour. Please don’t be cross with me.” Her eyebrows gather in regret.

Christina scowls slightly. “Then what is it?” She takes the box and begins to open it, but Helena puts a hand on the lid.

“Now wait…I think Myka should open it, don’t you?” She angles her eyes toward Myka.

Christina mouth downturns momentarily before morphing into a blinding grin. “Yeah!"

She scuttles over to Myka and hands her the box. “This is for you, from me and mom,” she beams at Myka.

Myka’s green eyes gleam with wonder. “What is it?"

“I don’t know.” Christina’s eyes become even rounder, her voice impatient. “Open it!"

Myka's lips curl warmly, and she briefly glances sideways at Helena as she lifts the lid. Her smile grows radiant at the sight of the contents: three cupcakes, each with a different color of icing, one decorated with the word “Good,” another “Luck,” and the last “Myka,” all written shakily in Helena’s handwriting.

“Can I see?” Christina yelps as she teeters on her tip toes angling her eyes toward the box.

Myka leans down and lowers the box so Christina can inspect the contents.

“What do you think, Christina?” Helena asks warmly.

“They’re cute, mom!” Christina claps her hands together. "I like them. I’m not mad. Are they from that place we go to sometimes that has that yummy pudding stuff, with the bananas?” 

“Yes, they most certainly are.” Helena nods.

“Can we eat them now?” Christina’s eyes light up.

Helena’s brow falls. “I think perhaps it’s a bit too late for some of us.” 

She eyes Myka wearily, and Myka gives a sympathetic smirk back.

“All of us."

Christina frowns.

Helena’s lips flatten but curl affectionately up on the ends. “But _you_ may have yours for breakfast in the morning."

Christina grins widely. “Yay!!!!"

Helena tries to tone things down. “Right now I believe it’s someone’s bedtime. Best put your pajamas on.” She motions with her eyes towards Christina’s room.

“But mom you just got here, can’t I stay up a little later?” Christiana argues. 

“I’m sorry dear, but it _is_ a school night.” Helena’s gaze is affectionate but firm.

“Ok,” Christina mouths dejectedly. She looks up at Myka. "I’m gonna miss you, Myka."

Myka stands motionless, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, brows knit, staring intensely at Helena’s appearance, steadfastly holding the box of cupcakes in her hands. 

Christina gives Myka’s shirt a tug, and Myka snaps out of it. She sets down the box, then leans over to give Christina a hug. “I’m gonna miss you too, sweetie. But I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?” Myka’s lips curl up warmly. 

Christina and pulls her tighter. “Ok,” she says sadly, then lets go and shuffles slowly to her room.

Helena moves further into the apartment, stopping a few paces in front of the coffee table. She bows her head bashfully as her eyes angle up at Myka . 

Myka’s gaze travels up and down Helena, taking her state of dress with unease. “Helena what…..what _happened_ to you? Why are covered in white dust and wearing a baseball hat?” Helena's hair is pulled into a tight ponytail and her form barely visible, buried underneath an oversized navy t-shirt, baggy olive green cargo pants and hefty black boots.

“I—,” Helena hesitates and glances toward Christina’s room. Her eyes dart nervously to the box of cupcakes then back to Myka. “tonight was meant to be—” she raises a hand shakily to the brim of her hat as her eyebrows pull together, “different.“ 

Myka's not sure what Helena is talking about but sees she’s struggling. “Helena, are you ok?” She narrows her eyes and steps around the coffee table, stopping to stand an arm’s length away from Helena. 

Helena’s hand travels down from her hat to rub the back of her neck then drops. “I-I don’t think I’ve eaten since noon. Today has been quite mad,” Helena’s voice is distraught.

Christina emerges in her pajamas.

Helena turns to address Christina, takes in a sharp breath and pulls herself together. 

“Did you study for your test?"

“Yeah, Myka helped me.” Christina smiles cheerfully at Myka.

“Then I’m _certain_ you’ll get an A.” Helena gives Myka a thankful grin. "Time for teeth brushing, then.” She walks over to the sink with Christina.

Christina goes through the motions of brushing her teeth.

Helena opens the fridge, removes a carton and grabs a fork. She turns, leans on the sink counter, opens the container, then spears a chunk of food.

Myka’s mouth slowly downturns as she watches Helena from across the room. She barks out with distaste, “ _Helena_! You can’t eat that.”

Helena freezes, food on fork, mouth hanging open. “But, I’m _starving_ ,” she says with a tired whine.

Myka looks on incredulously and points at the box. “ _That’s_ been in the fridge since before I left for Providence on Saturday, Helena. It’s _Wednesday_.” 

Helena closes her eyes and drops her head, sighing deeply. 

“Done!” Christina announces.

Myka stomps over and brashly removes the box and fork from Helena's hands, placing them squarely on the counter.

Helena looks up at Myka as if a scolded child.

Myka scowls. She scans the kitchen momentarily and hastily picks up an item. “Here, eat _this_ ,” she thrusts a banana at Helena, “and I’ll make you something else while you put your child to bed.”

Helena takes the banana and eyes it despairingly. She attempts to pull back the stem, but instead of opening its structure crumples. She looks up at Myka, completely at a loss for what to do.

Myka grimaces. “OK here, give it to me,” she extends a hand and Helena apprehensively passes it over.

Myka huffs out an exasperated breath as she tries but fails to open the banana on her own. She grabs a butter knife from the drying rack, scores the surface, and the banana finally opens. She hands it to Helena.

“Here. Eat this. All of it. Now.” Myka’s eyes narrow and she nods tersely.

Helena lowers her head, but takes the banana and does as told.

Myka moves to address Christina, who has been hovering nearby, eyes darting between her mother and Myka in confusion.

Myka crouches down, smiling warmly and tousles her hair. “Christina, honey, why don’t you go jump into bed and your mom will be there soon."

“Ok, Myka.” Christina deflates. "Nite.” She gives Myka a quick hug.

“Sweet dreams.”

Myka’s eyes linger on Christina as she shuffles slowly to her room. She stands, then swings around to face Helena, who is also watching Christina’s exit. 

Noting Myka’s attention now on her, Helena quickly takes the last bite of her banana.

Myka instantly removes the peel from Helena's hand, then eyes her critically. “After you’ve eaten, you _will_ tell me what the _hel_ —,“ her eyes dart toward Christina’s room, “ _heck_ is going on with—“ she waves the banana peel up and down in front Helena, “ _this_ right now."

Helena shuffles quickly to Christina’s room.

\---------

Myka roots around the sparsely populated fridge and pulls out a few items. She makes a sandwich and takes it over to the coffee table. While waiting for Helena's return, she sits and clears Christina’s study materials into a neat pile.

Helena emerges a few minutes later and hovers in the doorway between her bedroom and the kitchen. 

Myka catches her gaze. “Sit.” She pats an area on the couch next to her. “Eat.” She throws her eyes to the sandwich.

Helena frowns. “Myka, I can’t sit there— I mean look at me, I’m dust head to toe.” She tilts her head and reaches up to rub an eye.

“I don’t care, Helena. Just sit and eat, ok?” Her eyes soften. “I’m worried about you."

Helena eyes the sandwich, then Myka, then the couch. Moving hesitantly across the room, she gently lowers herself and sits. She picks up the sandwich, and takes a hearty bite. 

Once satisfied Helena is settled, Myka rises and busies herself cleaning up in the kitchen, thinking it’s best to give Helena a moment to eat in peace.

As Helena is finishing up, Myka brings over a glass of water and places it in front of her plate. She then skirts around the coffee table and plops back down on the sofa bed next to Helena.

Helena lifts the glass and takes a sip, eyeing Myka apologetically over the rim.

Myka presses her lips together as she gazes at Helena with concern. “Tell me what happened today,” she says firmly but with a soft tone.

Helena’s shoulders slump as she studies her water, running a finger lightly over the rim. “We—," she bites her bottom lip, “the—,” she takes a deep breath while her head tilts slowly to the side, " _everything_ had to be hot mixed to dry overnight for skim coating in the morning."

Her posture straightens, and she places her glass on her knee as she glances at Myka. “And the crew was already short staffed. Then to make matters worse, Horatio fell off a ladder after lunch and dislocated his shoulder. The job was already behind schedule, and we were told if didn’t finish tonight we’d all be sacked." She sloshes the liquid in her glass back and forth, then takes a swing.

Myka’s mouth drops open as her eyes narrow at Helena. "I understood _half_ of that, Helena.” 

Helena looks at Myka dispiritedly. “Walls, Myka, drywall, sheetrock.....joint compound and plaster make a hot mix. And a skim coat..."

Myka expression remains dazed.

“Myka, I've been working for Liam’s father." Helena sets her glass down on the table and angles her body towards Myka.

Myka's eyes widen to almost bulging. "The contractor?" 

"Yes." Helena minutely nods, eyes wandering to the door.

"So, like, _construction_?" Myka's pitch rises at the word "construction."

Helena nods deeply and wets her lips. "Mostly gut renovations. He has many jobs on in the neighborhood at the moment. I perform mostly unskilled labor as I'm unlicensed and paid under the table. But I do rise to the occasion when needed; plumbing, electrical, structural...I have many skills. And to be honest, I quite like working with my hands…..” The corners of her lips curl up slightly as she looks down at her hands, palms up, fingers stretching. She runs a thumb over her callused knuckles.

”You, wait. _What_?" Myka leans back as her gaze travels up and down Helena's form, examining her current state with new eyes. “ _Why_? You already have a job."

“That was not always the case.” Helena’s shoulders shrug slightly as she breathes a deep breath in, then out. “When we first moved to New York, I assisted Claudia occasionally, but was _desperate_ to find steady work of my own. I applied to listings left and right, but I needed to find a job that would act as a sponsor to obtain a work visa. If you can imagine, there I was, four years out of a degree I'd never finished, and I hadn't the time to keep up with changing technologies in order to be competitive." 

Helena looks down and fingers a loose thread hanging from the pocket of her pants. "On paper, I'm a college dropout with few references and a sparse, disparate, work history. It's not hard to see why I found little interest.”

Myka opens her mouth as if it argue Helena's point, but finds she has no logical counterpoint. "But, I mean, Stanford has to count for something, right?" 

"That fact brightened a few eyes, yes. But let me ask you, Myka, how would you answer? Why didn't I finish my degree?” Helena’s eyes darken.

Myka stares perplexed. “The money?"

Helena pinches her lips together. “So my trust paid my way into the school and without it I had no credentials of my own with which to keep me there.” 

Myka considers this for a moment, then offers another answer. "Oh. Right. Christina?"

Helena grimaces smugly. "And now I'm a single mother who couldn't balance school _and_ her child, so how could I _possibly_ balance a child and work?"

"Oh." Myka's heart sinks. She suddenly feels terrible for Helena.

Helena gives a long, low sigh. “All that work, all the money, Myka, all for naught.” She lowers her chin to her chest and shakes her head. Hands on thighs, her fingers slowly dig into the fabric of her pants.

“Helena, that’s not true,” Myka shifts on the bed, moving a little closer. “You don’t really believe that?” Her eyes are glued to Helena's every move.

Helena looks up at Myka, eyes vacant. “It's a curse, Myka. My grandfather’s money, my uncle George’s money, all _cursed_. What’s it done for me, really? It lulled me into a fictitious sense of security, allowed me to lollygag about, dawdling here and there, filled me with false self-importance, lead me to think I had no need to care for myself nor anyone else,” her lips form a sneer as she speaks, her eyes filling with anger and remorse.

Myka glares at Helena in disbelief, thinking this can’t really be the way she views herself and her life. This has to be the exhaustion talking.

She reaches a hand towards Helena, hoping to comfort her, to show her she’s not alone, but as her fingers touch Helena’s arm, Helena jerks away, head swinging hastily toward Myka, eyes glowering fiercely, widening to show the whites, lips pulling back, teeth nearly bared.

Myka’s fingers curl into a ball, but she holds steadfastly on to Helena’s enraged gaze. 

Helena abruptly turns away, body collapsing, arms hugging her stomach, clearly ashamed by her feral reaction.

Myka withdraws her hand slowly and decides she’ll have to use words instead to calm Helena. “But now you have Christina, who you love more than anything in the world. And-and, Claudia. I mean, Helena, you’ve done so much, been to so many incredible places, know so many amazing things, weathered _unthinkable_ tragedies, so what if you haven’t followed the same steps as everyone else."

She gives a pained but affectionate smile and tries to convey hope with her eyes. "Maybe you don’t fit into neat categories. You shouldn’t have to and I honestly don’t think you could if you tried." 

Helena's focus stays fixed elsewhere, but Myka watches Helena’s chest rising and falling heavily as her breath comes in waves.

She continues on. “I think…no I _know_ in my heart that it’s you, Helena George Wells, _you_ are the extraordinary woman in this room, not me."

Helena apprehensively turns toward Myka, chin trembling, eyes questioning, nearly bursting with tears. Her hands fall to her lap and form fists, the muscles in her arms straining against skin, her body shaking from within, barely able to hold back her bubbling raw emotions.

Myka sucks in a sharp breath, taken aback by the profound hurt, doubt and self-loathing present in Helena’s eyes. As she holds Helena’s gaze, she tries to think of the right thing to say, the right thing to do to help Helena, to offer her solace. Suddenly the pieces fall together and something important clicks: Helena and Giselle’s whirlwind relationship, her parents sudden death, her friends abandoning her at the warehouse…..fatigue alone is not responsible for Helena’s overemotional spiral tonight.

 _She_ is.

Nervously angling her eyes away, her stomach flutters as she breathes a weighted breath. The gravity of her presence in Helena’s life gradually becomes apparent, as well the reasons behind Helena’s hesitations, both physically and emotionally. There is _no way_ Helena could have imagined her selfless, impulsive decision to help Myka would lead to their lives becoming so intertwined. And that now, a month later, Myka's clothes would litter her bedroom, Myka’s books and papers would grow to cover every surface in the living room, Myka's coat would hang habitually and intimately next to her and Christina’s behind the door. 

Her eyes move back to Helena, who’s glazed eyes blaze a path right through her, lost in her own internal monologue. Myka's hand creeps up to cover her mouth and she looks down, mentally chastising herself over how selfish she’s been, focusing only on her own anxieties concerning her move, thinking Helena would be happy to see her go. She now sees how devastating, even damaging her absence could be to Helena’s fragile psyche. Helena must be terrified.

Myka’s fingers pinch her lips as she glances at Helena and decides that now is not the time to dwell upon the future. It’s her responsibility to pull Helena out of her brooding and she quickly decides returning to the previous topic of conversation might be the easiest place to start. She adopts a soothing tone, “So, how did you end up working for Liam's dad?"

At the sound of Myka’s voice, Helena blinks and her dust covered lashes flutter as her eyes come into focus, then dart from side to side, taking in the room. Her gaze lands back on Myka, and she squints curiously as if remembering who she is and where they are right now.

Myka wonders momentarily if Helena actually heard her question. She opens her mouth to repeat it, but Helena chimes in before the words leave her lips.

“I—,” Helena’s voice comes out gravely and low, “I met him at a birthday party for Erica. Liam encouraged me to talk with him, as he knew everyone in the neighborhood and thought he might be able to help me find work. I spoke with him briefly and by the end of the conversation convinced him he should hire me himself, on a part-time basis, helping out here and there. Before the hotel, I was working for him nearly full time. " 

Myka tries to imagine Helena, this svelte, pretty single mother with silky raven hair, pitching her herself with her upper-class accent as a day laborer to Liam's father. She's not sure if she's horrified or impressed by the idea.

"I can’t….I mean, that can't have been easy, working an every day at a job like that. Had you done that kind of work before?"

Helena fingers the edge of her t-shirt as her head tilts and twists uncomfortably to the side. “I’d worked manual labor jobs before, yes, but certainly not to the same degree. And at first it was rather dreadful. More often than not I’d be the only woman on an all-male crew, and I'd overhear them making lewd jokes about me behind my back. And the work was hard, often eight or more hours a day, hauling debris and materials up and down stairs from basements and rooftops."

She sighs heavily, then looks up at Myka. “I’ll admit I certainly didn't look like much and was completely out of my element. And in the beginning I had a hard time keeping up. But I arrived on time every day, kept my head down, worked hard, and grew stronger, faster. I picked up skills quickly and did what I could to be a team player. Thankfully the job manager could see that. I did whatever was asked of me without complaint, even if I knew they were making me do it out of spite.” Her voice thickens. “I made a promise to myself I'd do whatever it took to keep that job." 

Myka eyes Helena with compassion. "I'm sorry, Helena. That sounds awful.” 

Helena tries to verbally shrug it off. "Completely unnecessary, yes, but a rite of passage and all I suppose. Things improved vastly after Claudia brought Christina to the site one day. I showed her what we were working on, and she was fascinated, asking a million questions. She met some of my co-workers, and they were instantly smitten. That child certainly has her uses." Her eyes brighten as the corners of her lips curl up. 

Myka heaves a sigh of relief.

"So how long did you work there? Like, before now I guess." 

"Maybe a little over a year, until I began working at the hotel. The money wasn’t spectacular but cash in hand, no tax. Though I knew in the long run I'd need proper work papers to stay in the country."

"So then why are you there now?" Knowing Helena's questionable visa situation, Myka hopes Helena has a solid reason. 

Helena’s lips flatten. "When school is over, during the summer, I’ll have to pay for daycare for Christina while I'm at work. I want to be able to afford a reputable venue, and,” Helena sighs, "Christina _desperately_ wants to attend Girls Rock Camp with her friend Erica. It's close by, in the city, but it's still beyond my means at the moment." 

Myka’s eyebrows pull down, and she clasps her hands together. She feels like her heart is breaking for this woman more ever more than before.

Helena’s tone turns deeply serious. "I want Christina to have anything she wants, _everything_ I can possibly give her, as I know I don’t have much to give. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure...she’s… _happy_." Her voice breaks. 

Myka looks on worriedly as Helena’s spirits fall again. She lays a comforting hand on Helena's shoulder. "She _is_ happy, Helena." 

Helena's eyes grow glassy. "But she could be happier. She could have _more_. I could...do....more…..," her words slow as she drops her head into her hands.

Myka tilts her head, glaring worriedly at a crumpled Helena. She rubs light circles over Helena's shoulder. 

Helena shrugs off Myka’s touch and takes in a several deep breaths to calm herself .

Myka slowly pulls back her hand but decides she’s not going to let Helena lose herself in self-hatred. She needs to keep her talking.

"So the scratches I've seen on your arms, from the other week?

"My forearms," Helena twists and arm and gazes at her skin, “I-,” she stares and squints as if trying to remember that day, “I believe we were moving an endless supply of plywood up six flights of narrow stairs."

"And your hand?" Myka looks pointedly at Helena's hand. 

"The hand…I forgot my gloves the other day and was working bare handed. I couldn’t run out to buy a new pair until we had a break." She runs a finger over the scratch with disdain, glaring at it for far too long. "Nasty little cut that is…" 

Myka can see Helena’s thoughts spiraling again and tries to move things forward. "Helena, you’re exhausted. Why don’t you get cleaned up and into bed, we can always talk more later."

Helena looks longingly towards her bedroom.

“You should take my bed tonight, Myka. It’s more comfortable, and you can rest without me scuttling about and disturbing you. Tomorrow is a big…day…” Helena looks down.

”Helena—"

”I-I changed the sheets just yesterday," Helena's voice falters slightly.

Helena reaches up and pinches the bridge of her nose, hunching over while breathing out an exaggerated breath through her nose. She closes her eyes before speaking. “Christina was hoping that tonight, after dinner and studying, you two could paint and draw together….."

Her head swings up and toward Myka, eyes full of remorse. "Myka, I’ve ruined your last evening here. For the both of you." 

Myka's heart aches for Helena, and she fills her response with empathy. "It’s not your fault….we can do it another time. I’m not moving to Kansas you know." She puts on her most convincing smile.

"You have _no_ idea how far away Brooklyn really is, do you?" Helena half jests as she huffs out a single snigger. The corners of her lips tick up cynically, but begrudging grow into a weak grin the longer she holds Myka's gaze. 

Myka knows the tinge of humor Helena gives is an attempt to mask the hurt she’s feeling, and decides she’ll do anything she can to alleviate Helena’s pain. "OK, I'll take your bed if it will make you feel better.”

"Thank you.” Helena closes her eyes and hangs her head.

“Helena, everything’s going to be ok, I promise. You're just overtired right now. ”

Myka instinctively moves closer to Helena and leans in to give her a hug.

Helena flinches back, breath hitching, immediately eyeing her dusty clothes. She then glares at Myka's clean ones.

Myka takes the hint. She nods gently and instead reaches out and takes hold of Helena’s hand. She pulls it toward her and runs a finger over the cut near Helena’s thumb. She’s tempted to kiss it better but instead gives Helena's palm a reassuring light squeeze. 

“Just make sure you shower before passing out, ok?” Myka says with concern. She tries end on a lighter note by giving warm lopsided grin, but her eyes are filled with worry.

“All right.” Helena nods heavily.

Myka places Helena's hand gently back on her knee and rises, holding tightly onto Helena’s gaze. “Goodnight, Helena."

Helena looks at Myka despairingly. “Goodnight."

\------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was thinking more about where this Helena came from in my brain and I wanted to give credit to a few inspirational fics….apparitionism’s [Soon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3733810/chapters/8275741) is my first go to but there are others. Her resilience definitely was influenced by this fic [The Farmers Daughter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/614354/chapters/1107746) by spheeris1 and her valiance from “[The Abbey](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1484065/chapters/3131839)” by mrsdaphnefielding. If you haven't read them you should! (Also I'm sure there are more I'm forgetting...)
> 
> Next Up: some Myka thinky thoughts before bed + Abigail arrives to help Myka move out.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka has some important thoughts before falling asleep and Abigail arrives to help her move out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more update to complete the arc that is *part 1* ! Then forward - onto *part 2*.....

\------------------

> _New York is the capital, the national headquarters of homelessness.... No one feels he belongs here._  
>  GERALD STANLEY LEE, _The House of Twenty Seven Gardens_  
> 

\------------------

Myka enters Helena’s room, changes into pajamas, turns on the lamp next to the bed, and hunkers down with a book. She hopes reading will calm her enough to take her mind off of Helena and fall asleep. She’s thankful to have learned everything she has tonight, but honestly her head is spinning.

Five minutes later Helena slips in briefly to grab a few clean clothes. Myka gives a warm, lazy half smile in approval, and Helena nods curtly in thanks before scuttling back into the kitchen. 

Myka’s smile fades as Helena's form recedes, and she turns dutifully back to her book.

She catches Helena undressing from the corner of her eye, and although she knows it's out of line, she watches, frequently glancing over the top of her pages. When things turn inappropriate, she tells herself to stop, but her eyes stay glued, more out of worry than curiosity.

At the sound of water hitting skin, she sets her book down and rolls over on her back, eyes pointing to the ceiling. She takes a deep breath and tells herself to relax, knowing if she doesn't clear her thoughts she’ll never fall asleep.

She closes her eyes, but a little too tightly, and behind them she finds only Helena. 

—Helena, the student, thinking she was playing catch up with the rest of the world, feeling she hadn’t earned it after all since someone else’s money paid her way. 

—Helena, the player, using her looks, charm, and intelligence to shape the world at large's opinion of her, to hide her struggling status. 

—Helena, the mother, pouring her heart and soul into caring for her child, burying her identity in motherhood.

—Helena, the partner, imagining she’d found a family to fit into and a companion who understood her, but learning she’d only convinced herself it was true, the reality being she was more like a pawn in someone else’s dangerous game.

Myka sinks into the pillows and angles her eyes toward the kitchen, thinking about the other Helenas she’s met thus far. 

Flirty Helena from the coffee shop, sensitive Helena snuggling with Christina, and resigned Helena, swallowing her pride just to keep a job.

But Helena as Helena, as herself? Myka’s eyes dart around the room, searching for something, _anything_ to grasp onto that defines Helena.

It then dawns on her, the reason why Helena has so few possessions, why it’s difficult for her to talk about the past and even more so her future. She’s honed herself into a sleek machine, cut herself off from the world. By working hard to keep status quo, repressing her desires rather than pursuing them, there’s no chance of being hurt or abandoned, no room for failure. There’s just…..

“A _void_ ,” Myka recalls Claudia calling it, that night they all had dinner together. “she’s been floating in a void."

“Well,” Myka thinks pointedly, “ _that’s_ going to have to change."

\--------------------

Waking well before her alarm, at the first sound of shuffling feet, Myka lifts her head and glances toward the kitchen. She spies Christina at the sink washing up, and Helena darting back and forth in the living room.

Helena makes a move toward the bedroom and Myka quickly closes her eyes while pulling up the covers. She hears Helena step in and rummage through a drawer.

Myka opens her eyes and sees Helena’s back is turned to her. She props herself up on her elbows before speaking. 

“Helena?"

Helena freezes and slowly angles her head toward Myka without looking at her.

“Myka, I’m sorry to wake you— "

“I was already awake. Would you sit for a minute?"

Helena hesitates. “I-, we have to get to school…."

“There’s time. Just a minute. Please?"

Helena sighs nervously, then takes a seat on the edge of the bed. She drops her head and restlessly examines her hands.

“Myka, I’m sorry about last night. The way I acted was inexcusabl—"

“Helena you don’t have to be sorry, just…."

Myka pulls herself up then lifts the covers, and scoots forward to sit next to Helena at the edge of the bed. 

Helena moves her arms to her side and, elbows locking, lays her palms flat on the bed, fingers clutching the edge of the blanket. Her head stays down, but she angles her eyes toward Myka’s hands as they sit clasped on Myka's lap. 

Myka turns to look at Helena directly. “Just let me talk, ok? I want to—"

Myka pauses for a moment, gazing pensively at Helena while folding over her bottom lip with her front teeth, carefully formulating her next words. Her eyes wander down Helena’s neck to her shoulder, continuing on past her elbow and come to rest on her fingers as they grasp the bed. 

She inches closer and places her hand tenderly on top of Helena’s, lacing their fingers together, tensing, digging insistently under Helena’s palm.

“Helena, these last few weeks, I can't thank you enough for inviting me into your home, for taking care of me, for allowing me a glimpse of your life.” Her words are heartfelt. 

Her fingertips press lightly into Helena’s skin, “And, yeah, maybe I _don’t_ know how far away Brooklyn really is, but I _do_ know where you are, and you know where I am, and I’m not going disappear. Ok?” She thinks maybe that’s not the most articulate way of putting it, but it’s the best she can do having just woken up.

She pries Helena’s hand off of the bed and twists it around, pulling towards her, close enough to examine its length and breadth. She runs a finger lightly over Helena’s palm, first tracing the lines there, then traveling up, following the contours of each finger one by one, cataloging their calluses, scars, and bumps. 

"I know you’re not close to many people, but I—,” she tilts her head introspectively and wets her lips while keeping a steady eye on Helena’s hand, “I want you think of me as someone you can talk to, someone you can confide in, someone you feel comfortable asking for help."

She folds Helena's hand into a ball, covers it with both of hers and gives the mass a squeeze. 

"I know how hard today is for you. It is for me too. I'm going to miss seeing both of you every day _so much_ ,” her gaze travels up to catch Helena’s, “I don't think I even realized it until now."

They both look down as Myka releases Helena’s hand then threads her fingers back through, resting it on her thigh.

"But look at the bright side, you'll finally get your couch back." Myka glances up at Helena, a bright sleepy smile taking over her whole face.

Helena snickers once and her lips tick up, but her focus stays locked on their intertwined hands. 

“I _am_ going to start rebuilding my life, Helena, but please understand, I want it to be a life with you and Christina in it." Myka's eyes beam lovingly at Helena. 

Helena looks up, eyes full of a thankful warmth.

As they sit frozen, gazing affectionately into each other's eyes, Myka thinks about how _desperate_ she is to tell Helena just how big of a part of her life she’d like the both of them to be, but knows it’s best be cautious. Helena has so many pitfalls and phobias….she decides she needs to take things one step at a time; she doesn’t want to scare Helena away. Not now, not today. First priority, fix last night. 

She squeezes Helena’s hand reassuringly, and Helena squeezes back. 

Myka pulls Helena’s arm towards her, and Helena falls forward. 

Helena threads her arms around Myka, drawing her closer, holding on tightly, burying her face in Myka’s thick curly hair. 

Christina’s voice suddenly interrupts. “ _MOM_ , do you know where my books are for school?” 

Myka closes her eyes and thinks “of course", then smirks gently, and releases Helena.

She looks toward the voice and finds Christina standing timidly in the doorway.

Myka smiles knowingly. “ _I_ do, honey. Just give us a sec, ok, and I'll get them for you."

“Ok, Myka.” Christina disappears into the living room.

Myka turns back to Helena.

Helena looks at her reverently, dark eyes shining. 

Myka reaches up and gently places a lock Helena's hair behind her ear, hand sliding down to cup Helena’s jaw. 

“Mm," Helena hums, eyes flitting between Myka's lips and eyes. 

Christina’s head pops anxiously around the doorway.

Myka’s eyes fling toward Christina. 

“I’m coming,” Myka chirps, brows rising, a twinkle in her eye.

Christina stands firm, crossing her arms, glaring skeptically at the pair.

Myka’s eyes travel thoughtfully between Christina and Helena as a smug smile grows to cover her entire face. Abruptly pulling Helena toward her, she angles her head and plants a big wet kiss on Helena's cheek. She immediately glances over at Christina, eyes gleaming.

Christina gasps, eyes growing wide, mouth dropping open, lips curling up cheerfully at the ends.

Myka releases Helena then rises and looks down at her, mouth forming a lopsided self-satisfied grin.

Helena stares incredulously at Myka, mouth agape, brows smashed together. Her hand moves up to touch her cheek.

Myka’s positive energy beams from every pore. “Everything's going to be ok,” she tousles Helena’s hair, “No, _better_ than ok. Much _much_ better than ok." She turns on a heel and crosses the bedroom with a spring in her step, declaring, “I can feel it in my bones." 

\----------

Myka wishes her day at work was simpler than it’s turned out to be. A shipment of art arrived from London incomplete, and the time difference has made it nearly impossible to sort out affairs. She’s been on the phone, checking crates, then on the phone again since the minute she stepped in the door. Six o’clock can’t come soon enough.

Abigail picks Myka up at the gallery after work, and they drive together to Helena’s. Parking proves elusive at first, but they luck out during their third drive around and score a spot nearby. 

As they walk the short distance from the car to the apartment, Abigail presses for details.

“So what’s the scene, Myka? What are we walking into here."

“Umm, it should be Helena, Christina, Claudia, and pizza.” She counts on her fingers as she names. "Maybe beer? Oh and a double jointed cat named Dewy."

“Uh-huh.” Abigail nods her head slowly.

“And I, uh, haven’t packed much yet but it won’t take long, and we’ll fold the sofa bed back up if they haven’t already.” She eyes Abigail briefly.

Abigail eyes her back expectantly. “Uh-huh."

Myka suddenly realizes this is not the information Abigail wants. “Uh-huh, _what?_ ”

Abigail freezes. “Did you, Myka Bering, ask her royal highness, H.G. Wells, out yet?"

Myka stops a pace ahead, then swings back. “OH, oh. No."

Abigail glares disapprovingly.

“But, I’m going to. Definitely. Going. To.” Myka shakes her head up and down determinedly.

Abigail begins to walk. “When? You’re running out of time."

“I am!” Myka throws her hands in the air. "But I’m not. I mean the window of opportunity is open, but I’ve realized it extends beyond today,” she says factually.

“Really?” Abigail asks doubtfully.

“Yeah,” Myka answers assuredly.

“Explain.” Abigail narrows her eyes.

Myka glances at Abigail apprehensively. “Well I learned all this new stuff about Helena yesterday, _big_ stuff, Abbs. I think I need to wait a little."

“Myka,” Abigail’s voice deepens.

“I know, I know. I will. I _am_.” Myka shakes her hands up and down. "I’m going to. It’s just, well it’s harder than you think right? You can’t just blurt it out.” 

Abigail purses her lips and glares at Myka briefly. “That might be the most natural for you, Myka."

“What?” Myka raises a brow.

“Blurting. You blurt. Things. Myka. It’s what you do,” Abigail offers earnestly.

“I—,“ Myka scowls at Abigail. “I’m _trying_ be sensitive."

Abigail snickers then smirks. “And, how’s that working out for you?"

Myka’s brow wrinkles. “Abbs…."

Abigail’s tone sobers. “No, I’m _serious_ , Myka. Because, look. I think it’s maybe better if you just be yourself rather than second guess this one, ok?"

Myka sighs. “I don’t know. Meet her first, then get back to me."

Abigail jogs forward and turns to face Myka. They stop momentarily. “Do you think I should bow? Or curtsey or something? Or simply address her as ‘your grace'?"

Myka smacks Abigail on the arm and gives a playful grimace.

The pair comes to a halt in front of Helena's building.

Abigail looks up, “Nice place.” She frowns. “That’s some _real_ old-school grime going on there, Myka.” 

\-----------------------

The main doors both propped open already, Myka and Abigail enter easily and ascend the stairs. Myka stops by the appropriate floor, and as she fumbles for her keys, she hears the jovial voices of Christina and Claudia laughing from within.

All eyes fall on Myka as the door swings open.

“Hi, everybody!” she says cheerfully. "This is my friend, Abigail."

Abigail stands in the open doorway and gives a tiny nervous wave. “Hello, everybody."

A black flash emerges from beneath the sofa bed, making a beeline for Abigail.

Claudia, Christina, and Helena jump up in unison and scramble around the table. 

Abigail jumps back into the hallway. 

Myka drops her purse, bends over, and grabs Dewy tightly around the middle just before he makes it out the door. 

Christina runs over to Myka and reaches up. Myka hands her Dewy. 

"Stop squirming!" Christina scolds. Dewy struggles momentarily but Christina's grip is iron bound. He soon gives up and falls limp. She toddles off to secure him in her bedroom. 

Abigail steps back in and closes the door. “I’m guessing that was the infamous ‘Dewy' I've heard so much about...."

“...I’m quite sure he’ll be back for an encore later.” Helena stands front and center and extends a hand. “Helena Wells.” 

Abigail accepts Helena’s hand but is slightly taken aback by Helena’s formalness. Her eyes widen. “Abigail Cho."

Helena shakes Abigail’s hand firmly, lingering for a little too long while eyeing her with a welcome but performative smile.

Claudia nudges Helena out of the way, “And I'm Claudia."

Claudia shakes Abigail’s hand vigorously while giving her a warm inquisitive grin. 

Abigail smiles smugly. “Abigail,” she raises a brow and side eyes Myka, “ _very_ pleased to meet you.” 

Myka’s eyes widen, then narrow, as if telling Abigail to settle down.

Myka turns toward Helena, who she finds standing hands in pockets, lifting herself with tiny motions up and down on the balls of her feet. She stares at Abigail circumspectly, lips forming a thin line. 

Helena's eyes wander toward Myka, and Myka catches her gaze.

“Hey, you,” Myka mutters softly, lips rising to form a sunny crooked smirk.

Helena stills, posture instantly stiffening, the corners of her mouth ticking up slowly, falling into a lazy warm grin.

“Hello,” she replies gaily, face brightening.

Christina marches into the room and dashes over to give Myka an enthusiastic hug. “Myka!!"

“Hi, honey,” Myka crouches down and circles her arms around Christina.

“This is my friend, Abigail." She nods her head toward Abigail.

Christina steps back and glances at Abigail. “Hi," she mouths, grinning shyly. 

“Well, hello,” Abigail looks on amused. “Pleased to meet you,” she announces formally and extends a hand. 

Christina giggles and shakes Abigail's hand. 

“There’s pizza and drinks over in the _lounge_ if anyone wants them,” Claudia announces sarcastically.

Abigail looks around for the lounge.

“She means the coffee table and the sofa bed, Abbs. That’s where everything happens around here."

Abigail eyes the table and nods. “Ahh, gotcha. First, could I use the, um…"

Helena chimes in, “All the way down and through the door.” She points towards Christina's room.

“Thanks."

Myka walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. She grabs a paper plate, a slice, and a beer.

Christina trundles over next to her.

Helena hovers in the kitchen.

"What stuff do you need to pack, Myka?" Claudia plops down on the armchair by the window. 

“I think mostly clothes in Helena’s room, but there’s books and stuff in here. I brought some boxes home the other day, and I bought a hanging clothes bag, too."

Christina picks up her drink from the table and frowns as she eyes the contents of her glass. “Mom, can I have some more ice for my lemonade?” 

“Certainly, dear.” 

Helena strolls over, collects Christina’s glass and glances cordially at Myka. Her gaze idles for a moment and with a soft, familiar tone she asks, “Are you all right?"

Myka replies doggedly, “Long _stupid_ day at work. But I’m good now, thanks.” She gives a weary smile, but her voice is full of affection.

Helena’s eyes shine brightly, and she gives a small nod before returning to the kitchen.

From the side of her eye, Myka notices Abigail leaning against the doorframe between the bedroom and living room, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. She turns her head in Abigail's direction, and they lock glances.

Abigail throws her eyes toward Helena, then back to Myka and silently mouths “W-o-w.” She uncrosses her arms and walks over to sit next to Myka. 

Helena returns with fresh ice in Christina’s glass and skirts around the coffee table to settle next to Christina. 

The group chats casually while Myka and Abigail finish dinner.

Helena reaches across the table and grabs a beer.

Claudia protests. “Whoa—whoa—whoa there champ, that’s numero _dos_.” She holds up two fingers.

Helena answers dryly. “Claudia, I do believe I am _well_ over the age of consent, and I will _not_ be operating any heavy machinery this evening.”

“Yeah, but if that knocks you unconscious before Myka even steps out the door, I won't even _have_ to say I told you so." Claudia snips. 

Helena scowls back playfully.

Dewy jumps on the bed and Christina instantly scrambles to receive him.

Abigail looks over apologetically. “Oh, I’m sorry. He must have slipped out when I was looking for the bathroom."

“It’s not a problem. As you may have noticed, he’s quite cunning, this one.” Helena eyes Dewy firmly as Christina plays with him merrily. She reclines back and reaches out to join in while giving Christina a sweet smile.

Myka looks around the room taking a tally of items she needs to pack. She lingers at the window, noting the sun has almost set. 

“I guess—,” she looks sadly toward Helena and Christina, “I guess I better get started packing. Would you two help me in the bedroom?” Her eyes move between the pair.

“Can we mom?” Christina’s eyes light up.

“Of course, dear,” Helena replies soundly. 

Christina jumps up, crawls off the bed and scuttles to Helena’s room. 

Helena pries herself off the bed and follows.

Myka addresses Claudia and Abigail, “I’ll be back in a minute and maybe you two can help out here?"

“Sure,” Claudia says.

“Yes, capt’n.” Abigail closes one eye and salutes Myka, then angles her eyes toward Claudia wearing a sly grin.

“Behave,” Myka scolds Abigail as her eyes narrow.

Abigail immediately slides across the couch to talk to Claudia.

Myka grabs the hanging clothes bag from behind the door, then crosses the kitchen and enters Helena's room. She finds Helena sitting on the edge of the bed while Christina stands by the clothes rack. 

Myka addresses Christina first. “Maybe you can help put my dresses in here?” She holds out the empty bag.

“Ok, Myka,” Christina takes the bag and examines it curiously.

“Perhaps I should help,” Helena springs up and move toward Christina and Myka.

Myka stands eyeing the clothes rack warily, brow wrinkling, and takes in a deep breath. She’s not sure how to start.

Helena places a hand gently between Myka's shoulder blades and offers a reassuring smile.

Myka gives a slightly shaky but genuine smile in return. 

“I think, um, you two can handle this. I’m gonna start working on the living room, just let me know if you need help."

Helena nods dutifully and drops her arm.

Myka strides into the living room and quickly puts Abigail and Claudia to work.

Myka flits around the room making piles of items to pack and at some point places a hand on Abigail's upper arm for leverage while leaning over to pick up a box.

As Myka rises, Abigail queries, "Why does she keep looking over at me like that?” Her eyes angle toward the bedroom.

“Who?” Myka tilts her head.

"Your _prince_.” Abigail throws her head in Helena’s direction.

Claudia sniggers.

Myka turns towards Helena.

Helena smiles affectionately.

“Like what?” Myka turns back to Abigail.

“Like she’s going to _murder_ me in my sleep,” Abigail says bluntly.

“She feels threatened,” Claudia interjects.

Abigail’s posture straightens. “Of me? Why?"

Claudia glances briefly in Helena’s direction, “She’s just jealous because, well, you’re close to Myka,” her eyes flick up and down Abigail's form, “ _and_ , you know,” her head ticks to the side as her brows raise suggestively, "you’re _pretty_ hot.” 

Abigail smirks modestly, then looks away while rubbing the back of her neck.

“Ha!” Myka snorts, "Abigail’s not—"

Abigail turns towards Myka, face sobering, brows lowering.

“—h-o-t,” Myka mouths slowly, eyes on Abigail. All the sudden it dawns on her what she is saying.

Abigail crosses her arms over her chest, lips forming a thin white line, glaring sourly at Myka.

Myka glances at Claudia, who glowers critically with a grimace. 

Myka quickly studies Abigail and tries to image her from a distance, as someone she doesn’t know. With her naturally warm, glowing skin, high cheekbones, long, dark hair and curvy, thin frame, Myka thinks she sees what Claudia is implying.

"I mean yeah she’s,” she catches Abigail’s gaze, “ _you_ are,” she mouths with softness, “ _definitely_ ,” she turns back to Claudia, “um,” she wets her lips, “but I don’t see her like,” she looks at Abigail, “I mean, I’m not,” then over to Claudia, “she’s my _friend_."

Abigail interjects, “And that’s _fine_ , Myka, but that woman in the other room?" She angles her head toward the bedroom. “ _Definitely_ more than a friend.” 

Myka turns and watches Helena as she holds up a dress in front of Christina, who is facing the mirror. Christina smiles and says something to Helena, and Helena grins radiantly in return. As she rises, she gives Christina a kiss on the forehead.

“She _knows_ that, Abbs,” Myka turns toward Abigail, eye pleading. "I mean she knows she’s more to me than just a friend.” 

Abigail purses her lips. “No, she _doesn’t_ , Myka. Not for certain.” She shakes her head minutely back and forth. "Longing glances across the room aren’t enough. Her life is _far_ too complicated; she’s not going to assume anything.”

Her arms unfold and drop to her side. "You have to _tell_ her, Myka. With _words_."

Myka sighs heavily as her face sags. She eyes Abigail dejectedly.

“You _did_ pick cognitive scientist for a best friend. What did you expect?” Abigail half jokes.

Myka glances toward Claudia.

“What she said.” Claudia nods heartily.

Myka sighs again.

\---------

Packing finally complete, Myka says her goodbyes to the bed then the group wrestles its form back into a couch.

Myka, Helena, and Claudia all carry boxes down the stairs and out to the sidewalk while Abigail fetches the car. 

Myka places the final item on the pile and takes a step back, assessing her meager belongings.

“I guess that's everything I own. _Wow_.” The thought causes her stomach turn, but she swallows the feeling down.

Abigail pulls up to the curb, pops the trunk and hops out.

Everyone works together to load the car and soon all that’s left is for Myka to say her goodbyes.

She approaches Claudia first and gives her a friendly hug.

“Don’t be a stranger, _princess_ ,” Claudia suggests with a smug smirk.

Myka’s mouth hangs open for a moment. “You can stop calling me that now, you know.” Her lips pinch together.

Claudia gives a fake pout. “Uh, sorry, no. I can't." She glances at Abigail and winks. “I’d, um, get used to it if I were you.” She slaps Myka on the arm while giving a sarcastic grin.

Myka gasps and rubs her arm, glowering at Claudia in jest.

Myka moves on to Christina, who has been watching eagerly. She flashes her warm smile and crouches down to give her a proper hug.

Christina hugs her back, her little hands gripping Myka's shirt tightly.

Myka releases Christina but keeps hold of her arms. “I promise I’ll see you soon, and we can make some drawings, ok? I won’t be that far away."

“Ok,” Christina mouths sadly and gives a sniff as if holding back tears.

Myka threads a lock of Christina’s curly hair behind her ear. “Give Dewy a big hug for me?"

“I will,” Christina says earnestly.

Myka stands and shuffles over to Helena. She looks down shyly, then walks forward, taking hold of Helena’s hands. She raises her head, glossy eyes meeting Helena’s, mouth lifting to form a crooked bashful smile.

“Thank you for everything, Helena,” she mouths softly.

“You are most welcome,” Helena’s lips curl up graciously at the ends. 

Myka gently squeezes Helena’s palms while looking down at her feet. She twists a foot at the ankle, scraping the sidewalk. “I’ll, uh, call you to let you know how I’m settling in and maybe we can meet up next week sometime?” She looks up, eyes beaming expectantly.

Helena nods minutely, diligently holding Myka’s gaze, lips parted. "I’d like that very much."

Myka tugs on Helena’s hands and pulls her into a hug. Helena wraps her arms around Myka, casually at first, but deepening as Helena’s body slackens, her grip urging Myka closer. Suddenly, Myka feels that connection again, an electric energy passing between them, though somewhat moderated due to their public presence.

Helena pulls away slowly, and leans up on her toes, giving Myka a firm kiss on the cheek, near her ear.

Myka’s breath shudders.

“A return for this morning," Helena whispers softly, then takes a step back, eyes beaming radiantly at Myka.

Myka's heart fills with warmth, and her gaze glows with affection.

“Everything's going to be ok,” she repeats to herself, “everything is going to be A-OK….”

She swivels to eye Abigail and Abigail nods. She gives Helena one last sweet smile and follows Abigail to the car. They both climb in and are soon on their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Puzzle pieces continue to come together for Myka. And…will Myka finally ask H.G. out?


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myka moves into her new digs. Helena hits a snag and asks for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I said “one more update” I gave myself some wiggle room…there are two more chapters - 21 will be up at the same time.

——————————

> _“When you leave New York, you are astonished at how clean the rest of the world is. Clean is not enough.”_  
>  ― Fran Lebowitz

\-----------------

Myka navigates while Abigail drives to Myka’s new apartment in Brooklyn. 

“According to Google maps we have to go over the bridge then get on Broadway somehow…"

“No problem. Got it.” Abigail turns left then right three times. As they reach cruising speed over the East River, Abigail makes small talk.

“Soooo….tell me again how it’s even _remotely_ possible you lived in that _tiny_ apartment for three weeks and nothing happened between the two of you?” Abigail squeaks out the word “tiny."

"Uh….,” Myka eyes Abigail dubiously. 

“Seriously, Myka, how? The chemistry between you is, like, _off-the-charts_.” 

Myka’s eyebrows squish together. “You think?” 

Abigail blows out her cheeks and glances at Myka briefly, arching a brow. “Um, _yeah_. The looks you were giving each other could melt steel. And don’t get me started on that hug and kiss on the cheek…."

Myka feels her face flush. “That was—,” she drops her eyes down, “this morning, I—,” then looks to the side, “and, um, Christina,” she touches a hand to her cheek and looks toward Abigail bashfully. “I’ll explain later.” 

A hush takes over the vehicle as both women lose themselves in thought.

Myka turns toward the passenger side window and sighs. “Abbs, you know, I think,” she runs a finger absently over her reflection in the glass, “I think there’s some serious stuff from her past holding her back."

“The _boat_!” Abigail yelps. She snaps her fingers and points at Myka.

Myka flinches and gives Abigail a dazed stare. “What? No, not that."

“ _Yes_ , that. The boat.” Abigail nods in tiny strokes and continues on as if Myka hadn’t spoken at all. "I was trying to figure out why she’d rather live in that hovel than with Claudia. It's like the boat."

"It’s not a _hovel_ ,” Myka grimaces, neck craning up, eyes narrowing.

Abigail pinches her lips. “Myka, you’re seeing everything through _love goggles_ ,” she waves a hand in circles at Myka, palm facing out. “A month ago you wouldn’t have spent one night in that place willingly."

“That’s not true.” Myka barks, mouth screwing into dour pout.

Abigail glances at Myka and emits a skeptical snort. “You know, you used to tell me all the time how dumpy _my_ place was."

"I did not,” Myka says defensively, shifting in her seat to face Abigail directly.

Abigail chuckles. “Did too."

“Did _not_.” Myka crosses her arms and lowers her brow. 

“Did _too_. You said, and I quote, 'these slanty floors made me sea sick, Abbs.’” Abigail playfully imitates Myka’s voice. 

“I never said—,” Myka's posture slumps as she stops to think for a minute, “Ok maybe I did." 

“More than once,” Abigail mouths harshly.

Myka averts her eyes.

Abigail clears her throat. “So…. _anyway_ …..back to your future paramour and the _boat_ ,” she narrows her eyes at Myka, "Helena's formative years were spent on that boat, her happiest memories happened there, right? And a canal boat would have been really narrow, compact, everyone constantly on top of each other, probably little privacy. It wouldn’t have been cluttered with stuff, like an apartment or a house. It had to _float_." 

Myka nods.

“And from everything you’ve told me already, I’m gathering that apartment is the only thing she feels is hers. Except Christina. It grounds her. She feels safe there, contained. And with you there it was even more like old times, full house, heartening but frightening at the same time, stirring up repressed memories."

Myka nods again and gazes at Abigail thoughtfully. “There she goes again,” she muses to herself, "psychoanalyzing everything to death.” She sighs, but then decides maybe it's not such a bad thing, as Abigail’s usually right, and she honestly could use all the help she can get when it comes to deciphering Helena.

“She’s as confused about her feelings for you, Myka, as you are over yours for her.” Abigail says gravely.

“Great,” Myka mouths ironically then presses her lips together while letting out a long deep breath. She turns to look out the window and thinks, “Just wait till you hear all the stuff I learned last night, Abbs. You are _so_ going to have a field day with that."

Abigail comes to a stop at a red light and notes the street name. “Ok Myka, I officially don’t know where we are anymore.” She looks over at Myka.

Myka shrugs.

Abigail nods at Myka’s phone. “Map?"

Myka touches the phone to illuminate the screen and zooms in. “Ok, turn left at the next intersection, then right."

Abigail turns. “This, um, _neighborhood_ , Myka, if you can call it that, seems kind of—"

“ _Desolate_? Yeah. It’s sure not Manhattan." She looks out the window and takes in entire blocks of industrial buildings and empty lots. “You’ll see …where I am is just on the edge of where there’s stuff. It’s not too bad. I’m, um, a ten-minute walk to the train."

Abigail raises her brows skeptically. “Ok."

They turn one last corner and arrive at Myka’s building.

“So, that's it, huh?"

Myka nods. “Yep."

“It looks like the last hundred or so buildings we passed. And that pile of trash over there,” Abigail points towards a lot with a ragged chain-link fence, “looks like it's been rotting for months—"

“Let’s….just...grab a few things and you can see the space, ok?” Myka suggests anxiously.

“Uh-huh,” Abigail mouths, angling her eyes skeptically at Myka.

They exit the car and walk over to a huge steel door.

“So the warehouse downstairs uses this entrance too, but I'm on the second floor.” Myka digs out her keys, opens the door, and they enter into a lobby area.

“Our mail comes here, and you can park a bike over there.” Myka points to a beat up looking bank of mailboxes then a dead end corridor littered with bikes.

“Uh-huh," Abigail enunciates slowly, looking a bit horrified. “I see your sojourn with the prince has been practice for your new digs."

Myka’s face pinches in annoyance. “Just _wait_ , Abbs."

They climb a metal staircase and walk down a long, tall hallway with aging, wooden floors, fluorescent lights and endless rows of doors.

Abigail hesitates, eyeing the scene warily.

"Come on, Abbs.” Myka beckons.

They stop roughly in the middle of the corridor.

Myka sets down her bags and threads her key into the lock. “Once we’re inside you’ll feel better about everything, I promise."

She opens the door, and Abigail steps in. Her eyes go wide.

“Well, _this_ is certainly different."

“Yeah. I _told_ you. Bennett and Charlotte are both architects. They used to have their studio here, too, but their business outgrew it, so they moved to another site and rent the space out for extra cash. They also said they’re not home much. I guess they work all the time."

Abigail walks through the glistening, angular kitchen into the high-ceilinged living room. Bookcases rise to the ceiling and plants hang from shelves, a bank of industrial windows covers the exterior wall. A teal mid-century sofa and matching wooden coffee table furnish the room.

"Myka, you said this place was nice, but you didn’t say it was _this_ nice."

"I, uh, well, I’ve only been here once, and that was back when I was desperate to find something. I don’t think it really registered."

“Where’s your room?” Abigail pokes her nose around every door and surface.

“It’s over here." She walks over to a large sliding metal door and pushes it to the side.

She flips a light switch, then enters. Abigail follows.

“Wow,” Abigail mouths, avidly surveying every crevice of the boxy loft like room. With it’s wooden ceiling beams, exposed brick walls, and huge windows, it looks like something out of a glossy architectural magazine.

“Yeah,” Myka says. “It looked much smaller with the previous guy’s stuff in it. But pretty awesome, huh?"

“Yeah."

“Let's go grab the rest of my things out of the car and settle in."

\------------------------

Abigail stays until Sunday and helps Myka acquire and assemble such necessities as a bed, a desk, and a dresser. They wander around the neighborhood, learning the lay of the land and manage to find a few good spots to eat and drink. On Sunday evening, Abigail sadly makes her way back to Providence, but promises to visit soon. 

Myka’s kept in touch with Helena over the past few days by regularly texting progress updates. She gives her a call on Sunday night, thinking Helena might be free and have a minute to talk. Their conversation begins stiffly, but soon warms and falls into a friendly and familiar pattern. They make plans to meet up during lunch on Tuesday for coffee. Myka feels absolutely giddy at the prospect.

\-------------------------

Tuesday arrives, and Myka learns just how harrowing her daily commute will be from now on. The internet said her journey would take thirty minutes but in reality it’s more like forty-five to an hour. She leaves her apartment early just in case, but sees this new routine is going to take some getting used to.

As lunchtime arrives, she’s heartbroken to have to cancel her meeting with Helena. An important call from overseas is running late, and there is no way she can step out. She suggests meeting after work, but Helena has to pick up Christina from martial arts practice. They agree to try again Thursday.

\------------------------

On Thursday, Myka's rhythm is off, and all morning she feels as if she can’t gauge what time it is at all. She hurries to finish a few emails before rushing out to meet Helena nearby. Helena arrives late and apologizes repeatedly for being late _and_ for having to leave early…she says the hotel is hosting a conference and they’re severely understaffed. She gives Myka a friendly hug upon arrival and immediately asks a million questions in rapid succession about her new apartment. Myka dutifully answers and after fifteen minutes Helena’s phone buzzes. She checks her messages and rises, asking if they could try again, maybe Tuesday, but she’ll call Myka before then. Myka agrees, and also rises. Helena gives her a hug and a friendly kiss on the cheek, mouthing Tuesday as she hurries out of the shop. Myka lowers herself back down, feeling disorientated and confused, but thankful Helena suggested another day to meet.

\-----------------------

On Friday evening, Myka almost calls Helena out of the blue but texts instead, not wanting to seem too pushy or needy. She admits to herself she finds the distance between them unsettling; she can almost _feel_ Helena disconnecting from the world again in her absence. She knows she needs to be bold to reverse that dynamic but decides she should to come up with a plan before attempting anything rash.

\------------------------

Saturday arrives. Work is for once manageable, but after fielding a call from Amanda’s gallery, she finds herself on edge for the rest of the day. The exhibition opens in less than a month, and she'll need to hustle to be ready in time. She’s been busy building her cache of art supplies up from scratch but by the time she gets home at night, she’s too exhausted to use them. Feeling worred about Helena constantly is not helping the cause, either. 

As her workday comes to an end, Myka receives a call. It’s Helena.

"Myka, I’m so glad to catch you,” Helena’s tone conveys a sense of urgency.

“Helena, what’s up?” Myka’s not sure why, but she tries to sound casual.

“I’m, uh, in a bit of a bind and, well, Claudia suggested I call to ask, but I _am_ aware it's Saturday night and imagine you must have plans."

"I’m not busy, Helena. What is it?” Myka’s nonchalance quickly turns to concern. 

"I have to work tonight and Claudia has to work late, some sort of important deadline. Steve and Liam are out of town….I was wondering if you’d mind staying over and watching Christina for me. It’s all right if you can’t, Claudia can— "

“ _Of course_ , Helena. It’s not a problem. And I’d love to see Christina.” Myka anxiously cuts Helena off.

“Thank you, Myka. Thank you so much."

"I’ll run home and grab a few overnight things. I can be there by, maybe eight?"

“Perfect." 

\--------------

Despite her best efforts, Myka arrives at Helena’s closer to eight thirty, right before Helena has to leave for work. She enters the building easily as she forgot to give the keys back while moving out and convinced herself to hang onto them until Helena asked, in case of emergency. She knocks on Helena’s front door before entering, just to be polite.

Helena answers immediately. Myka walks in, and Helena swiftly closes the door.

“Myka!” Christina exclaims ecstatically and runs over to give Myka a hug.

“Hi, Christina!“ Myka greets enthusiastically, while bending down to reciprocate. 

“I missed you!” Christina admits.

“I did too, honey.” Myka pulls back but keeps her hands on Christina’s upper arms. 

“Do you want to make some sketches before bed?"

“Yeah!!"

“If that's ok with your mom.” Myka looks up at Helena.

“Of course.” Helena stands, smiling warmly at the exchange between her daughter and Myka.

“Ok. Go grab some supplies and I'll meet you on the couch."

“Yay!!” Chistina trots off to find paper and pencil. 

Myka rises.

Helena takes a step closer. She crosses her arms but her eyes glow with genuine gratitude.

“Myka, thank you so much for coming on such short notice."

Myka gazes at Helena warmly, while giving a humble smirk. “Anytime Helena. You know that."

Helena nods minutely then looks down at her feet. “Sadly, I must go, but call me if you need anything,” she raises her head, and her eyes meet Myka’s, “anything at all. I’ll be in late as usual. You should sleep in my bed, I’ll take the couch."

Myka only half listens and instead studies Helena's lips. Helena’s head turns as she says “bedroom" and a shiny flash catches Myka’s eye. Her gaze flicks down to Helena's exposed clavicle, where she finds a silver necklace dangling heavily.

“Hey, I remember this.” Myka spontaneously reaches out and takes hold of the jewelry, pulling it toward her for closer inspection. "You haven’t worn it for a while.”

Helena looks down to view the item, now resting in Myka’s hand. “I know it’s not particularly fashionable, but I wear it when,” Helena hesitates, “when I want to feel closer to them. To my family. My grandmother gave it to me.” Her tone is soft, eyes filled with a deep-seated sadness.

“Can I?” Myka angles her eyes up at Helena; voice tinged with gentle asking.

“Yes.” Helena gives a slight nod.

Myka pries it open gently. Inside she finds a copy of the photo currently displayed on the shelves in the living room. One side holds her parents faces, the other her own and Charles'.

Myka looks up at Helena and sees the love and longing in her eyes as she stares at the photos.

Helena gives Myka a strained smile, and gingerly removes the locket from Myka's fingers. She closes it, then places it reverently back upon her chest.

“I really must go,” Helena declares a little too abruptly. She leans in and gives Myka a hurried formal kiss on the cheek, then pulls back. She grasps Myka's upper arm with firm fingers and looks Myka directly in the eye. “I’ll see you in the morning, all right?” She gives a tiny curt nod and scrambles away to grab her bag.

“Christina, I’m going,” Helena bellows.

“Bye, mom!" Christina scuttles across the room and gives Helena a big hug.

“Goodbye, my love. Promise to mind Myka, no fussing about at bedtime."

“I promise,” Christina looks up at Myka earnestly.

Helena releases Christina but holds her at arms length.

“I’ll see you in the morning, all right?” Her inflection is exactly the same as it was a minute ago when she spoke those identical words to Myka.

Myka stares at the exchange and raises a hand, fingers touching lips. She thinks to herself, “Huh. You’re not fooling _anyone_ , Helena Wells. You're keeping your distance, but I see _right_ through you."

Her mouth lifts into a sly smirk as she watches Helena rise and exit in a flash.

Myka chews a finger. "Abigail was right, though,” she admits to herself, "I need to make a move. _Now_.”

She turns and gazes at Christina, who is back on the couch, already immersed in drawing.

“We _will_ settle this tomorrow, Helena, one way or another. But no matter what, I'm _not_ letting you lose yourself again. Not on _my_ watch."

\-------------


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The *final* chapter of gutted/sorted…NOTE chapter 20 was posted concurrently so check that out first.

—————————

> _“I believe in New Yorkers. Whether they've ever questioned the dream in which they live, I wouldn't know, because I won't ever dare ask that question.”_  
>  ― Dylan Thomas

\---------------

Morning arrives.

Myka lays fast asleep in Helena’s bed. Her eyes blink open as she feels a sudden presence next to her. She momentarily struggles to focus.

“Christina, uh, where’s your mom?” She smacks her lips and yawns. 

“She’s sleeping on the couch.” Christina sits on her knees and bounces lightly as she speaks.

“What time is it?” Myka squints and tries to remember if there is a clock in the house, or if Christina even knows how to tell time.

“Wait, I'll look.” She hauls herself over to the edge of the bed and lifts her phone off the side table.

8:30am. That means Helena's only slept for a few hours. She quickly decides they should do something out of the house so Helena can rest.

She sets down the phone and lays her head on the bed, then twists toward Christina. “Hey champ, wanna go out for breakfast?"

“Yeah!” Christina exclaims, using a too-loud-for-now volume. She bounces up and down even more vigorously on her knees. 

Myka winces. “How about let's keep the voice down so your mom can sleep.” She angles her eyes toward the living room. "I'll get up and put on some clothes."

Christina bends closer to Myka and whispers, “Ok.” 

Myka grins. “Can you brush your teeth _really_ quietly?"

“Uh-huh,” Christina nods earnestly. She slides off the bed and slips silently into the kitchen.

Myka pries herself out from under the covers and off the bed. She glides over to peek into the living room and finds Helena lying on the couch, curled up in a ball, still fully dressed. The blanket covering her body has almost completely fallen to the floor, so Myka tip-toes over and pulls it gingerly back up. Helena doesn’t stir.

Clothes are donned, and shoes are tied, and Myka leaves a note on the coffee table before she and Christina head out for breakfast.

They automatically walk west, past Claudia’s apartment building. Myka asks Christina if she has a favorite restaurant and Christina says the place they used to go to is now closed. She points down the street to a fenced off lot where a building is being demolished. It’s the same area Helena had earlier told her was being developed into new housing.

They turn north at a large intersection. As they travel, Myka actively searches for open eateries, but finds most are closed until ten for brunch. She eventually locates a diner, situated near a park, a few blocks from Christina’s school.

The pair enjoys a leisurely breakfast, and afterward Myka stretches their escapade out by meandering around the neighborhood, allowing Helena as much time as possible to sleep.

They reach the apartment around noon and find Helena awake and dressed, reading the paper in the armchair.

Helena lowers the paper and sets it on her lap. “Hello, lovelies. Did you have a nice morning out?"

Christina runs over and clambers onto Helena's lap, crushing the newspaper. “Yeeeeahhhh!” 

Helena’s arms fly up as Chistina settles down. She looks over at Myka.

Myka smirks apologetically. “Sorry, I bought her for a cookie for a snack so she might be a little pumped on sugar.”

She holds up a brown paper bag. “We also brought lunch from,” she narrows her eyes while looking directly at Christina, “the, um, giant…tiny….sandwich— "

“ _Tiny giant_ , Myka!” Christina blurts, then giggles. 

”Actually, it's _Tiny’s_ Giant Sandwich Shop,” Helena corrects, using rather proper diction.

Myka nods, mouth open. “Yeah, there."

“That’s very kind of you,” Helena says warmly.

Christina snuggles into Helena’s shoulder and looks up at her with puppy dog eyes. “Can Myka ride bikes with us today, Mom?"

Helena glances at Christina affectionately and sweeps Christina’s curls out of her face with a hand. “Of course, love, but Myka might have other important grown up things to do—"

“I can ride bikes," Myka blurts out with a little too much enthusiasm. 

Helena and Christina’s eyes swing simultaneously toward Myka.

“Though I-I don’t have a bike.” Myka's face drops then lifts. "But I could rent one of those blue ones at those racks all over the neighborhood."

“True.” Helena moves to stand, and Christina slides off her lap. She rises, walks up to Myka, then delicately removes the bag of sandwiches from her hand. “I’ll pay you back for these—”

“Helena, no. It’s the least I can do.” Myka says plaintively.

Helena gazes at Myka thoughtfully while cocking her head to the side. She leans in and speaks in a lowered voice, placing her hand gently on Myka’s breastbone for leverage, fingertips pressing lightly onto skin. 

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Helena’s tone is unassuming. She throws her eyes briefly toward Christina.

“But I want to,” Myka says softly, factually, heart suddenly racing. She looks down at Helena’s hand. 

Helena’s eyes dart to her hand, and she quickly withdraws it, fingers retracting to form a ball. She stares at it as if she’s not sure how it got there, as if it must have acted on its own volition. 

Myka smiles knowingly.

Helena's voice breaks as she bellows, “Christina, wash up for lunch.” She swiftly moves to the kitchen.

Helena plates the food, and everyone dines around the coffee table like old times. Once lunch is cleared, Helena and Christina grab their bikes, and the group heads out for the day.

As they walk east, Myka asks, “I don’t remember Christina having a bike."

“It’s new, or rather a hand me down from a work colleague. She’s simply _ecstatic_ over it."

Myka glances at Christina and smiles.

They near the bike rental station and Helena inquires, “Have you been to the East River Park before, Myka?"

Myka shakes her head. “I haven’t, no."

“It’s an odd little sliver of green across a large highway with lovely views of Brooklyn. Parts of it are quite nice."

Myka walks up to the kiosk and reads the bike rental instructions. “Ok, so I can rent one for forty-five minutes or for the whole day. It looks like once I pay I can pick any bike from the rack, and the mechanism that holds it’s wheel will unlock. Then when I put it back, I just have to make sure it’s securely locked in place." 

Myka reaches for her wallet. 

Helena holds up a hand. “One moment." She glances at Christina, who is jumping up and down enthusiastically.

“Can I Mom?"

“Go ahead.” Helena nods once.

Myka looks utterly confused. 

“It’s a game we play from time to time though we’ve never had reason to, let’s say _consume_ the fruits of our labor. Avert your eyes if you’d rather not be privy to somewhat questionable behavior."

Christina skips along, kicking the tires of each bike present. As she reaches the middle of the rack, a bike jumps free of its lock. 

Helena nonchalantly saunters over and drags the bike nimbly out of its spot. She wheels it over to Myka.

“Your chariot, my lady,” Helena declares while giving a slight bow.

Myka looks stunned but takes the bike. “Is this ok?"

Helena tucks in her upper lip, drops eye contact then smacks her lips. “We’ll be sure to put it back on our journey home." 

“Ok,” Myka mouths with a tinge of doubt. 

Myka adjusts the seat, and they ride together toward the river, under the shadow of an enormous bridge. They cross the highway using an elevated footpath and proceed to travel up and down the park, stopping occasionally to take in the view. 

The day is slightly breezy, but not too warm, though hot in the sun.

They rest briefly on a bench near a playground.

Christina swings her feet as she sits and abruptly announces, “I want ice cream.”

Helena considers this briefly. “Hmm, didn’t we pass a piragua cart by the ball fields?"

“I don’t remember,” Christina pouts.

“I believe we did. Would that do for now?” 

“Yeah.” Christina hops off the bench and mounts her bike.

"What’s a piragua?” Myka asks, brows angling.

"Puerto Rican shaved ice topped with a fruit flavored syrup," Helena says factually while rising. “This neighborhood once hosted a large Puerto Rican population, and there are still quite a few carts about. It’s a very humble, simple, and inexpensive treat."

“So, sorta like a sno cone?” Myka inquires.

“I suppose vaguely comparable, yes."

“Come on!” Christina urges.

“Alright, hold your horses,” Helena grumbles and eyes Myka apologetically.

Myka gives a crooked half-smile in return.

They ride their bikes north toward the fields and locate their target.

Helena speaks lightheartedly in Spanish to the man tending the cart, then asks what flavor Myka would like. Christina places the order, and Helena pays. 

They wander across the grass to the edge of the promenade then lean their bikes and themselves against the railing next to the water.

A large site-seeing boat approaches traveling south. Christina tries to climb the railing to get a better view.

“Can you hold this, Mom?” Christina thrusts out her piragua.

Helena purses her lips. “All right, but don’t forget about it and let it melt.” 

Christina clambers up the railing and leans over to watch the boat pass. Helena stands next to her, gazing out onto the water. Myka leans next to Helena, back to the railing, body facing the park, head turned toward the boat, nibbling on her ice. 

“Do you see how big it is, Mom?” Christina inquires, bending forward as far as she can without toppling over.

“It certainly is, dear,” Helena says spiritedly as if wowed by its size.

The boat is packed full of tourists and Christina waves emphatically. “Why aren’t they waving back?"

“I don't think they can see you, love. Perhaps you’re too small.” Helena takes a taste of Christina's ice treat.

Christina notices, and frowns. “Hey, that's mine."

“As long as I’m holding it, I can do as I like. Do you want it back?"

Christina scowls. “No. Not yet."

Christina dismounts and hops up and down on the sidewalk, arms flailing at the boat.

Myka’s heart warms as she watches the two interact, but she can feel the clock ticking. This lull may be her only opportunity to talk seriously with Helena today, so she decides, as a segue, to engage Helena in idle conversation. “You really do know everyone in the neighborhood, huh?” 

Helena looks over at Myka. "I suppose I do.“ She takes a bite of her ice cone and angles her eyes away, staring introspectively at nothing in particular. Her shoulders slump as she takes a deep breath. “Myka, I— I should probably explain that I was once—"

Christina, still jumping frenetically, accidentally bonks into Helena.

Helena swings her head around. “Ow. Careful, Christina."

“Sorry, Mom,“ Christina mouths automatically. She attempts to jump even higher by holding onto the rail.

Helena grimaces then turns back to Myka.

Myka eyes Helena expectantly.

Helena holds Myka’s gaze for a moment, wets her lips, then hesitantly continues her previous train of thought. "I was….once...romantically involved with a woman who grew up in the neighborhood. And through her I met quite a lot of—"

“Mom, can I have my ice back?” Christina interrupts. She's no longer waving and holds out a hand.

Helena's attention sways to Christina, and she hands her the item, then watches absently as Christina gnaws her frozen treat.

Myka sees Helena’s focus is drifting and decides to speak up before the moment lapses.

“I know,” Myka barks out pointedly.

Helena reels around to face Myka.

“Really?” Her voice rises a pitch, and her eyes widen.

Myka shakes her head in the affirmative and takes a bite of her cone.

Helena’s lips form a small sneer, and she grumbles, “Claudia.” She turns away, leans her elbows on the railing and looks out at the water.

Myka quickly counters, “No. Christina, actually,” Her lips tick up on one side as she looks over at Christina, who has climbed back up on the railing, cup of ice in hand. “but in a roundabout kind of way.” 

Helena glances at Christina and her brows knit. “Christina, no eating, and climbing. You don’t want your treat to fall in the river now, do you?"

“Nooo,” Christina says dejectedly while climbing down.

Helena looks back at Myka, eyes narrowed, lips forming a thin line, waiting for further explanation.

Myka blinks and runs a finger idly across the top of the railing. “I, uh, met Giselle the day I dropped off Christina at school. And later I-I sort of asked Liam and Steve for details.” Myka’s mouth forms an embarrassed smirk.

“Oh,” Helena says wide-eyed. “I see.” She slurps her shaved ice and angles her eyes away tensely.

Myka mentally kicks herself for giving more information than necessary.

Christina balances herself on the railing while tugging on Helena’s wrist and pointing. “Mom, there’s another boat with a sail!"

Helena glances in the direction of the boat. “That’s nice, dear.” She runs a hand slowly through her hair, gaze staying fixedly away from Myka.

Myka sighs and admits to herself she’s just ruined the moment. Helena won’t be opening up any further to her today. She decides she needs say something drastic to turn things around.

“Helena,gooutwithme.” The request spouts urgently from her lips, words mashing together in a nearly indecipherable mass.

Helena freezes, arm bent, ice mid way up to her mouth. She twists her head towards Myka; brows lowered, eyes questioning, lips parted. 

Myka wets her lips nervously. “I…go out with me. Like, on a date. A _real_ dat—"

“ _Myka_ , somebody on the sailboat waved at me!” Christina has migrated next to Myka and climbed up the railing. She leans over, waving with one hand, holding her flavored ice in the other.

Myka swings her head toward Christina’s voice and sees she's hanging over too far. “Maybe you shouldn't lean so far forward, honey.”

She places a hand on Christina’s shoulder and gently coaxes her off the railing, then turns anxiously back to Helena.

“Maybe _real_ is the wrong word. Official. An _official_ date. With, um,” Myka gives a bright but strained smile while placing hand on her chest, " _me_.” She blinks anxiously and fingers the collar of her shirt.

Helena looks Myka directly in the eye. “Myka—"

“Myka! _Look_! There’s a little boat too,” Christina’s back on the railing, cup of ice still in hand.

Myka turns towards Christina, and more insistently this time, lowers her down, hand lingering on her shoulder. She continues talking in Helena’s direction, “I mean I know you’re busy with work and Christina and everything, and I’m busy too but I—"

She releases Christina’s shoulder and pivots her whole body to face Helena.

“I _miss_ you,” Her eyes glow, voice full of heartfelt yearning.

She then glances down at Christina, who is now by her side.

“ _Both_ of you,” she flashes Christina a genuine, broad smile then tousles her hair and places her hand lightly on Christina’s back.

Christina beams up with a silly grin. 

“And I think,“ Myka looks up at Helena, who is staring dazed, attention rapt, piragua perched in hand.

”There’s this, like, _chemistry_ , between us,” she folds her hand and places her fingers over her chest, “something _electric_ ,” her hand tightens to form a fist, “something I’ve honestly never felt before.” She gives a warm, crooked half-smile, and her eyes beam with affection.

Her arm drops and her voice lowers. “And I think,” she gently tilts her head, body slackening, “no, I _know_ ,” she stares passionately at Helena, eyes wide, “you feel it too.” She speaks softly but with the deepest sincerity, her words filled with a certainty that overrides Myka’s usual sense of emotional restraint and rationality.

“ _Mom_ , I’m done." Christina blurts. She stands next to Helena, waiting patiently for a gap in Myka’s monologue before speaking up. "I wanna ride my bike again.”

Helena stares fixedly at Myka, dark eyes shining brightly. At the sound of Christina’s voice, she blinks heavily and looks down. “Of course, dear. Here, give me your cup. Just don’t ride too far. We’ll be along in a minute."

Christina hands Helena her cup, and trots over to retrieve her bike.

Myka stands motionless, heart ready to burst, hoping, praying she’s not messed things up irreversibly.

Helena eyes the cups she’s holding in both hands, then wets her lips, and looks to the side as she takes a moment to respond. She nods once, slowly, deeply, then eyes Myka directly.

“Yes,” she mouths breathily, lips ticking up slowly, mouth slightly open, eyes filled with warmth and affection. “Yes— ”

“ _Mom_ , come _on!!!_ ” Christina pleads while performing a drive by.

Helena’s head lurches to track Christina’s movements. She then eyes Myka apologetically. “I’m sorry, but we probably should—"

“Follow her?” Myka chirps.

“Yes,” Helena says sounding somewhat disconcerted. Her eyes squint and focus on a point beyond Myka. “Christina, not too far!” 

Myka smiles wildly as she turns to locate Christina in the distance. A huge weight has just been lifted; she's totally walking on air.

\---------

The rest of the afternoon involves equal parts riding on bikes, sitting on benches, and walking by the water. As dinnertime approaches, the group makes their way out of the park. When they pass the bicycle rental rack, they secure Myka's ride back in it’s proper holder. As they amble back to Helena’s apartment, Myka and Helena chat, occasionally bumping shoulders, while Christina anxiously rides in circles around them. 

Bikes are hauled up the stairs and placed behind the couch. Myka gathers her things and waits patiently for the two of them to get settled. 

Helena suddenly notices Myka standing tensely by the front door. “You're not staying for dinner?” she asks with clear disappointment in her voice.

“I-I _really_ want to, Helena, but I can’t.” Myka grimaces. “I’d, well, I’d been trying to keep myself busy until we were supposed to meet again on Tuesday, so I already made plans to meet some out of town friends today and they, um, they changed around their schedule to fit me in.”

Helena’s face goes slack, and her shoulders sag.

”I-I sort of got caught up in everything and forgot,” Myka gives a sheepish grin, “I just checked my phone; they’re already at the restaurant."

"I’m sorry, Myka.” 

“Helena, don’t be sorry. _I’m_ sorry. I really wish I could stay. I had such a great time this afternoon, I-I wouldn’t trade it for anything." She eyes Helena’s lips, then glances behind her at Christina lounging on the couch with Dewy.

Helena follows Myka’s gaze. She angles her eyes toward Christina but speaks in Myka’s direction. "Let me walk you out, then.” 

Myka smiles.

The pair shuffles a few steps forward, and Helena opens the door. 

Myka exits into the hallway and turns around to face Helena.

Helena stands, shoulder propping open the door.

"You’ll call me, right? And we’ll make plans?” Myka asks, her tone positive, hopeful.

“Absolutel—," Helena’s head swiftly swings to follow a streak of black flying down the hall.

“Oh, _bollocks_. Myka, get him—,” Helena pleads.

“ _On it_!” Myka immediately drops her bags and lunges to intercept Dewy before he makes it down the stairs.

Dewy struggles, legs flailing wildly, but Myka holds on tight. She rises, standing still for a moment while he begrudgingly calms down. She smiles smugly, then walks over to Helena. 

Helena glowers at Dewy and holds out her arms while angling her head toward the apartment. “Christina, come collect your feline fugitive."

Myka places Dewy in Helena’s arms, and as Helena's head swings back, Myka leans in, capturing Helena’s lips in an impromptu kiss.

Helena flinches but Myka's willful need for contact keeps her lips firmly locked in place. Helena soon relents, settling into the kiss, returning Myka’s enthusiasm in kind. Her heart races as Helena pushes forward, increasing contact. She boldly but gently tugs on Helena's bottom lip and in response Helena emits a soft, low, guttural noise. The sound causes an electric surge to pulsate through Myka's body all the way down to her toes. 

Dewy, now crushed between the two magnetized bodies, squirms then mews plaintively. His claws dig into Myka's arm and Myka winces, then reluctantly releases Helena's lips. She takes a step back while Helena grips Dewy tighter. 

Helena beams passionately at Myka as a bright smile takes over her face. She suddenly startles, then glances over her shoulder to find Christina tugging on her shirt. She steps sheepishly out of the way. 

Myka’s face lights up. “Goodbye, Christina. I’ll see you soon, ok?” 

“Ok, Myka. Bye!” Christina gives a tiny wave.

Myka looks at Helena, eyes gleaming. "Call me.” Her brows lift as she pokes Helena once in the chest with a finger.

Helena winces playfully, then nods. “I will,” she answers, voice filled with conviction.

Myka grabs her bags, turns on a heel, walks down the hall and descends the stairs. As she shoves the first exit door open, she pauses for a moment, and quietly says to herself, “Sorted."

-END of Part 1- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I hesitated linking to the actual disaster that inspired this story, but now that time has passed I'm gonna do it. So look [here](http://gothamist.com/2015/03/27/east_village_explosion_aftermath_25.php#photo-1) if you are interested.
> 
> *Also thanks so much if you are still reading! I hope you'll join me for part two.....
> 
> PART TWO of gutted/sorted starts here: [**wax/wane**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4778978/chapters/10932353)  
>  Sparks fly as Myka and Helena finally connect, but will they lose or find themselves through love? Myka’s prospects continue to rise, her star shining brightly, while Helena’s fortunes fall, snowballing ever further south. When everything falls apart, will the intense gravitational pull between them be enough to see them through?


End file.
